


Lodge of Lies

by pink_opal



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fantasy Politics, Forbidden Love, Group Sex, Homoeroticism, Lesbian Sex, Multi, Other, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/F/F, lore heavy, mix of books-games-show, palace politics, relatable new character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27239032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pink_opal/pseuds/pink_opal
Summary: “You must be able to enchant without casting spells, to protect yourselves and your interests." Yennefer said to the young pupils. "Men are weak, yet they are in power. Sorceresses disrupt that unfortunate fact by being almost otherworldly with their perfection."During the Thanedd Coup, Philippa Eilhart saves a young sorceress who knows a great deal about Yennefer and Ciri. This sorceress is brought to Redanian capital Tretogor, where she is introduced to the young King, Radovid. Could she be the reason why the King grew so hateful towards all wielders of magic?"Lodge of Lies" is a multi-chapter, immersive work that merges the books and the games. It involves several OCs and fan-favorite characters like Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri, and Jaskier. The main themes in the work are palace politics, forbidden love, lodge-politics, and romance/competition/hatred between sorceresses. The story is lore-heavy but reminders will be provided at the beginning of each chapter.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Original Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Philippa Eilhart & Triss Merigold, Philippa Eilhart/Original Female Character(s), Radovid/Sylvia, philippa eilhart/cynthia
Comments: 11
Kudos: 35





	1. Witches of a Palace

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers and content warnings will be provided at the beginning of the chapters when relevant. Skip those if you don't want spoilers. Other than that, all feedback is greatly appreciated!

Content Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM

Lore Reminders:

  * [Philippa Eilhart](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Philippa_Eilhart): A Redanian sorceress famed for her ambition, cruelty, and intelligence. She is the head advisor to Queen-Mother Hedwig of Redania and her young son, King Radovid V. 
  * [Cynthia](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Cynthia): Philippa's apprentice. At the end of The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, it is revealed that she is a Nilfgaardian spy.
  * [Radovid V](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Radovid_V) (The Stern): Radovid became king after his father was assassinated. The first years of his reign were dominated by his mother Hedwig and sorceress Philippa Eilhart. Just like the game series, he is also aged up in this work.
  * [Isle of Thanedd & Thanedd coup:](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Thanedd_coup) The island on which Aretuza, the "sorceress-academy" is placed. During the chapter meeting there, an attack by both Radenians and Nilfgaardians occurred, causing great chaos and countless deaths. There Ciri escaped by jumping inside Tor Lara and Geralt was wounded by sorcerer Vilgefortz. Yennefer was saved by Francesca Findabair, who turned her into a figurine to hide her.
  * [Tretogor](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Tretogor): Capital of Radenia.
  * [Zerrikania](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Zerrikania) & [Ofir](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Ofir): Distant, "exotic" lands. 



* * *

“Sylvia, are you coming? We are going to be late”

Cynthia’s voice hit the young sorceress like wind and Sylvia found herself rising on her feet absentmindedly. They still had at least an hour before sundown but neither of them would dare to be late, as that would mean disappointing Madame Philippa. It was rare enough that the master sorceress allowed her apprentices to roam on their own so failure to obey her rules could cause them to lose that privilege.

“You’re right” Sylvia replied and patted the skirts of her dress to get rid of the dirt. It was futile. The fabric needed to be washed.

“You shouldn’t have sat on the grass like that.” Cynthia criticized though Sylvia knew she was looking out for her. Two of them had been through a lot in the last year they had spent in the royal palace in Tretegor, quickly learning that looking out for each other often was the best option. When Madame Philippa was upset with one of the girls, she would almost always punish both.

“I will change into something clean before Madame Philippa sees us.” Sylvia replied, starting to walk alongside her fellow apprentice. Cynthia did not reply to her, but it was obvious from the way she breathed that she was not happy with the situation. That confused Sylvia since they still had quite a bit of time until their curfew.

Two of them walked through fields that were covered by soft-looking wheat and made their way through a district famous for its merchants. All sorts of smells reached their nostrils, including spices from Zerrikania and horses from Ofir. Even though they were strictly instructed to avoid that, Sylvia could not help but stare one of the traveling merchants who seemed to be cuddling a large snake.

Like many sorceresses, she also had physical traits distorted due to the infusion of magic and the merchant seemed to notice the pair of yellow eyes looking at him immediately. Grinning, he waved at Sylvia, and the young sorceress panicked, immediately putting the hood of her cape up and fastening her steps. The man seemed strange, filling her with a feeling she could not explain. He seemed to be selling mirrors, then why was he holding a snake?

“Remind me why we’re walking through the market?” she complained to Cynthia, who seemed to be leading them towards a direction they had never taken before.

“I need to meet someone”

“A boy?”

Cynthia did not respond, and Sylvia did not ask again. Regardless of who it was, meeting outsiders was not allowed. But she would cover for her friend, without requiring a conversation about it.

She sat on a large piece of rock from a broken garden fence, while Cynthia had entered a two-story townhouse. Now she could understand why her friend was so worried about being late because she had calculated to make a stop in the town. Sylvia did not mind too much. The sun was still up enough to warm her, and she felt that her aching bones needed it. After all, even though multiple sorceresses and healers had worked on her body, she still carried the signs of what had happened on Thanedd.

Right on the four spots she was stabbed on.

Remembering what had happened a year ago immediately caused her breathing to get irregular and she had to close her eyes to avoid spiraling into panic. However, that only made it easier for images to appear on her mind. She could hear the screams of people she knew, and she could not only smell but taste the blood.

_“Sylvia, get up. Are you alright?”_

_“Madame Merigold? What is going on? I-“_

_“Listen to me, you need to find Yennefer. Do you understand? You need to find Yennefer!”_

_It was confusing, that she needed to find her old mistress, the sorceress she had served on a journey some years ago. The sorceress who walked on earth like she owned it. The sorceress who’d made love to a witcher in a rundown inn room while Sylvia had fed the horses nearby._

_“Madame Yennefer? But why?”_

_Triss Merigold looked frustrated. “There is no time. I must go help Geralt. You need to find Yennefer and get Ciri out of here.”_

_“Cirilla is here?” she asked but there was no reply. Instead, Triss patted her on the shoulder before running towards the tower. Sylvia wasted a couple of seconds looking after her in disbelief. Why would anyone run towards where the elves had just regrouped?_

_Still, she was too scared to think of anything else other than the instructions Triss had given her. Except, the raven-haired sorceress was nowhere to be found, especially with so many corpses and fighters around._

_She was unable to find Yennefer but from a distance, she managed to spot the young girl with ashen hair, whom she hadn’t seen in years. “Ciri?” Sylvia mumbled and coughed some blood, only to notice the person chasing her. Vilgefortz? What was that lunatic doing behind Ciri? And right behind them…_

_“Elves” Sylvia murmured again, watching in disbelief the scene before her, Ciri running for her dear life towards the tower with Vilgefortz on her trail, while a group of Elves were crossing the bridge._

_“Shit” the young sorceress tried to stand on her feet, but the blood loss was getting to her. She could never make it to Ciri, that part was obvious. Fear covered her entire body, paralyzing her muscles. Was she dying? No, she couldn’t, it couldn’t be real._

_Perhaps with more focus, she could have found a way to get herself out but at that moment, she felt like it was too late for her. But Ciri could still make it. She raised her hands and focused the rest of her willpower on the bridge and muttered a spell. Dark blue sparks left her fingers and landed on the bridge, destroying it on impact._

_The elves wouldn’t be able to make it Ciri. She smiled. The ashen-haired girl entered the tower at the very same moment two daggers entered Sylvia’s body. She could only hear screams and cries as the world went dark._

_Next time she’d open her eyes, it would be a week later and many miles away in Tretegor, to a very displeased Philippa Eilhart._

“Sylvia! Are you all alright?

“Huh?” she looked up, seeing Cynthia stare with a worried look.

“I’ve called your name five times. Are you alright?”

“I am” light-brown haired sorceress replied and stood up. “Are you done here?”

“Yes. This is between us, right?”

“Of course.” she smiled at Cynthia. Sorceresses were famed for romantic freedom but that was not the case when your mistress was Philippa Eilhart. She would keep her secret.

“Thank you. Come on, we need to hurry back to the palace now.”

* * *

The brunette’s hands were tied to the iron bars of the bed rail by an old rag, but her legs roamed free. She was on her knees on the bed, leaning forward with her naked bottom-up as Philippa Eilhart paced around the bed, nervously.

“Are you sure he did not talk to you about anything?” she asked the brunette, who responded with an impatient sigh.

“Philippa, can it not wait? I’m not ass-up waiting on this bed to talk about the boy.”

“No, it cannot wait. The person you call a _boy_ is the king of Redania. I did not send you to his bedroom just to suck his cock, Swenja. You were supposed to gain his trust.”

“I’m a spy, Philippa. Not a common whore. I know what I’m doing. And I’m telling, your _boy_ has no interest in opening his heart to a courtesan. Perhaps you should have introduced me to him as a noble’s daughter, rather than sending me to him as a gift.” Swenja replied, with a hint of resentment in her voice that caused Philippa to give up.

“So what? You went in there, rode his royal cock, and left?”

“Precisely.”

“Three damn times!?”

“Four actually.” Swenja shrugged as much as she could do with the bondage. “He also requested me last night.”

Philippa grunted. “How did you manage to fail? He is sixteen years old, it can’t be that hard to lure him with sex.”

“You said it yourself.” the spy replied nonchalantly. “He is a king. A very brooding and angsty one in fact.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you failed.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Swenja licked her lips. “Am I going to get punished for it, Madame Owl?”

A shudder quickly traveled through Philippa’s body, reacting to Swenja’s overly sweet, teasing voice. With lazy steps, she made her way to the dresser, on which she had placed a small brush made up of soft, intricate feathers.

She sat behind Swenja on the bed and quietly watched the woman’s curves. She had long brown hair reaching to her waist, but it was now tied up. There were many scars on her pale body that traveled from her left shoulder down to her hips. The sorceress liked them.

Philippa placed her hand on the woman’s bottom, letting her nails dug deeper before she slid her hand down, until she reached Swenja’s entrance. And the spy moaned.

“You need to do better.” Philippa said with a dry voice as she separated Swenja’s folds and slid one finger inside her. The brunette immediately moaned, and Philippa’s eyes wandered to her firm breasts.

“I need to do better, yes.”

“This is serious.” Philippa said scoldingly and pulled her hand back.

“I am taking this very seriously. I will gain the King’s trust, I promise you.”

Slowly, the sorceress reached for the feather and played with its intricate details before starting to move it down Swenja’s back, eventually reaching her bottom and her entrance. The woman squirmed as the feather made the smallest of impacts on her skin, leaving her wanting more in a desperate way.

With no remorse on her face, Philippa moved the feather on Swenja’s folds and eventually stopped as the spy’s swollen pleasure button revealed itself. Then the sorceress grinned menacingly. She twirled the feather around Swenja’s sweet spot, making sure to cause pleasure rise inside the woman but denying her the release of a climax.

She could feel it in her soul every time Swenja came to the edge of her climax and that exact moment, the sorceress pulled the feather back, causing the woman to cry out in need. Minutes passed one after the other, but she wouldn’t grant Swenja what she wanted. It was a game Philippa had played many times, yet it was still always fun. There was simply something wonderful about being in control of the thing her partner wanted the most at the moment.

“Philippa, please!” Swenja started to beg, a single tear falling on her cheek. The vision caused Philippa to shudder in pleasure.

“You want to finish that bad, Swenja?” she asked calmly.

“Yes. For real, Philippa. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll learn everything Radovid thinks. You’ll know everything. Please, just a few more strokes and I-“

Both of them recoiled when a hesitant hand knocked on the door. Philippa jumped up on her feet and yelled, her voice shrieking with anger. “If you care about your life you will walk away from that door and never come back!”

“Madame Eilhart?” a servant’s scared voice replied. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me. You need to come to the Western guest room immediately.”

“I don’t need to do anything!” Philippa yelled in fury. Swenja squirmed on the bed, more tears following. Her climax was ruined by the interruption. The tingling feeling inside her and the pulsating pain on her crotch made it impossible to calm down.

“It’s… It’s Madame Merigold.” The servant added, her voice cracking with fear. “She said to fetch you immediately. Says it’s most urgent. I’m so sorry.”

Philippa closed her eyes to calm down. “I’ll be there immediately. Now, get lost.”

She opened her eyes and looked at the poor creature on the bed. She had planned to ruin Swanja’s orgasm herself, but she found it unacceptable that it had happened out of her control.

Luckily, pleasure often happened in one’s mind. And also luckily, Philippa was one of the most talented illusionists ever lived.

The sorceress covered her thin gown with a thick cape and stood in front of the mirror to fix her braids, while the spy kept twitching on the bed. After that, Philippa raised her slender hand slightly and muttered a spell before blowing a kiss to Swanja. A few seconds later, Swanja squirmed on the bed, pressed her legs together, and screamed in pleasure, unable to understand how she had climaxed.

* * *

“Triss, you look like you’ve seen the ghost of your grandmother. What is going on?”

Triss Merigold was sitting on the bench and looking down at the wooden table where Sylvia had brought her something to eat, though she had no intention to touch the food. Cynthia stood nearby, fanning Triss on the face. The sorceress with chestnut hair looked pale and there were purple circles under her eyes, signaling that she’d been crying.

“I sent you to keep an eye of Yennefer and Cirilla, Triss. What the hell has happened?”

Triss raised her head and looked at Philippa, her eyes harbouring nothing but pure grief. “They’re gone.”

Sylvia gasped.

“What!?”

“They’re gone, Philippa!” Triss yelled. “There was a massacre against non-humans. Geralt tried to stop them. They stabbed him with a damned pitchfork! By the time we arrived… I knew it was too late but…”

“But what? Speak, woman!”

“But Yennefer wouldn’t listen.” Tears traveled down Triss’ cheeks. “She tried to save him. She used everything she had. All the spells she could think of. Dangerous spells, forbidden spells… It wouldn’t work. Nothing would work!”

“Then what happened?”

“What do you think, Philippa!? They died! Both of them!”

Philippa’s eyebrow raised but she remained calm. “Yennefer was a powerful sorceress and an intelligent woman. She has betrayed the Lodge once but redeemed herself when she brought Cirillia back to us. She will be mourned properly, with a small but tasteful ceremony. Stop crying Triss, it makes you look ugly.”

She raised her head from Triss to ask a handkerchief from her apprentices. However, Sylvia was crying with her head rested on the large marble column and Cynthia just seemed too shocked. Sighing at what she considered an exaggeration, she picked up the pitcher of wine nearby and hoped that would calm Triss.

“Where is Cirilla, Triss? Did you bring her here? Nobody can know who she is, but we can still allow her to attend the ceremonial funeral.”

Triss didn’t reply.

“Triss? I’m talking to you! Where is Cirilla?”

Triss raised her head but there were no tears left. “She is gone too.”

“What!?” the pitcher left Philippa’s hand and shattered to pieces upon impact.

“She took Yen and Geralt’s bodies and disappeared. I don’t know where she is, but Ciri isn’t coming back, Philippa.”

* * *

_Sylvia, created by Djarn's image-maker:<https://imgur.com/a/f4XRo7t>_


	2. Effigies in Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia talks to King Radovid of Redania for the first time. He has questions about a certain ashen haired girl and her guardians Yennefer and Geralt.

When 3 bolts of pure energy left Philippa’s fingers and made their way to the young sorceresses, neither Sylvia nor Cynthia panicked. They’ve been trained for this and more importantly, Philippa’s attack was predictable. They gave each other a glance before extending their hands towards their mistress and they shouted an incantation at the same time. Before the bolts would reach them, an almost invisible ward appeared in front of them. When the bolts hit the ward, they shattered. Cynthia gave Sylvia a small smirk but none of them let their guard down. It would be stupid to assume Philippa wouldn’t send the fourth bolt on them.

So, what ruined their performance was the fifth one. After they successfully stopped the fourth one, they felt victorious and lowered their hands. The ward disappeared immediately, leaving them vulnerable. That was what Philippa was waiting for. _Always expect the unexpected_ the sorceress would often cryptically say to her apprentices and it seemed like they had forgotten the lesson. They only noticed the bolt when it was too late to stop it. Sylvia tried to dodge by jumping aside but ended up rolling on the grass. Cynthia attempted to cast another ward but didn’t have the time for it. The bolt pushed her like she had the weight of a feather and she stopped only when her back hit an old barrel. When both sorceresses were on the ground, Philippa cast one last spell, which set a small ball of fire towards the pile of hay that was shaped like an adult human. Within seconds, it was burnt down.

“Never think you can completely predict your opponent” Philippa scolded, her disappointment dripping from the words. “It is impossible for humans to know each other completely. Even the people closest to you can surprise you. Always be on your guard. I am disappointed in both you.”

Sylvia stood up much easier than Cynthia did and tried to get the dust off her breeches by patting. She wasn’t allowed to wear anything other than dresses and the breeches were the only thing she owned that she actually liked, so seeing the small hole on where she’d fallen upset her. Though looking at Cynthia, she realized she was in a much better position. The blonde sorceress’ breeches looked like rags and she would clearly have bruises later.

“Is that miserable burnt thing supposed to be me, Madame Eilhart?”

The King’s voice came from the back and surely was unexpected. Except for Philippa, everyone on the courtyard bowed, including Sylvia and Cynthia. Being the apprentices of the court mage meant regularly stumbling upon the King but no direct interaction had ever happened. Radovid wasn’t talkative and he certainly wasn’t friendly. Sylvia had observed that plenty of nobles and high-ranking government officials often got talkative and cheerful around their favorite colleagues, but the young king was different. Sylvia wasn’t even sure if he was physically capable of smiling.

“Just an effigy” Philippa replied, not bothering to decorate her words with niceties. The inhabitants of the palace were used to seeing the sorceress treat the King like a child, but Sylvia cringed internally. “It is the only version of you that I thought I would trust my apprentices with at this moment. But I was certainly wrong with that” she added, grimacing at Cynthia and Sylvia. Two of them were most definitely not presentable enough to be within the King’s eyesight.

“I can see that” Radovid replied, his eyes lingering over the smoke coming out of the effigy-king.

“How can we help you…” Philippa asked but then added the customary title, “… Your Majesty?”

Radovid didn’t sound pleased. Philippa Eilhart had been the court mage for ages and additionally had been his mother’s top advisor and confidante, as well as being a heavy influence on the regency council. The crown could be on Radovid’s head, but the scepter was surely in Philippa’s slender hand.

“I’m here to talk to your apprentice. The one you brought from Thanedd.”

Sylvia almost gasped and raised her head, establishing direct eye contact with the King for a second. She immediately lowered her gaze, not because staring at the King wasn’t allowed but because the cold look in his eyes hit worse than Philippa’s bolts.

“Sylvia? What could she possibly help you with?” Philippa asked, not trying to hide the annoyance and the shock in her voice.

“That’s my business, Eilhart” the King responded, and the sorceress went quiet. Even she knew that Radovid was old enough not to be scolded in public. The days she would treat the King like a naughty child were not long ago but were surely gone.

“Very well” she replied. “I will send her to wash and change out of her practice clothes before she comes to you.”

“I don’t wish to marry her, Madame Eilhart, I just wish to talk to her. Her current appearance will have to suffice.”

Philippa stayed quiet. Sylvia looked at her with confusion in her eyes and a little bit of fear. She would surely get scolded for that later, as Philippa wanted them to fear nothing and if they do, hide it well.

“Very well Your Majesty. Sylvia, don’t be late for the evening class.”

Within seconds Philippa had turned around to walk away and Cynthia was following her. Others in the courtyard went back to their chores to avoid the King’s wrath and Radovid’s guards seemed uninterested in anything other than immediate dangers. The light-brown haired sorceress had nowhere to escape the King’s gaze. She felt even more conscious of her dusty practice clothes.

“Follow me” Radovid ordered and turned around to walk away, without waiting for Sylvia to catch up. The sorceress took big steps, but the King had also started to walk, meaning that she was walking a big step behind him.

The King was tall for his age. He wasn’t too built but practicing regularly and being well-fed had left visible effects on his body. He had stubble and his brown hair had faint waves. Sylvia felt thankful that she was unable to see his eyes because his signature gaze made everyone around him feel like they were being impaled.

With quick steps, Radovid left the courtyard and paced through the barracks. It didn’t seem like he had an intention to acknowledge the girl following him or slowing down for her. It was getting harder to keep up with him after an intensive practice that had ended with her face on the dirt, but Sylvia did her best.

He stopped near Queen-Mother Hedwig’s greenhouse. “Wait here” he told the four guards that were tailing him and opened the glass door himself. For a few seconds, Sylvia waited there but then she panicked and entered the greenhouse. One of the guards closed the door behind her and she found herself in a large glass structure that was filled with plants and flowers from the tiles to the ceiling, leaving almost no space. She recognized most of the herbs from her alchemy classes in Aretuza but the flowers were unknown to her. Looking at how bright the colors were, she assumed those were exotic and not from the cold tundra of Redania.

Radovid walked until they reached 5 large flowerpots, containing colorful roses. When he stopped walking and turned around, Sylvia almost gasped, regretting that she had sped up to catch up with him. Now they were too close.

“Zerrikanian roses. Have you ever seen them before?”

“No, Your Majesty” the sorceress replied, resting her eyes on the roses and welcoming them as a distraction from eye contact.

“Apparently they were my father’s favorite. So, my mother still keeps them. After all these years. Do you think it is foolish to be so stuck in the past, Sorceress?”

Sylvia gulped. A wrong answer meant trouble but an ingenuine reply could be easily dangerous. Radovid’s father, King Vizimir, was assassinated when the Prince was 12, making him the new King. Yet, until very recently, Radovid held no real power. Queen-Mother Hedwig and Philippa Eilhart ruled effectively with the Secret Service. But now that he was coming to age, Sylvia thought that was surely to change. His teachers often talked about Radovid being a brilliant young man and an exceptional strategist. Even Philippa had complimented him on that, though noting that his paranoia might be bigger than even hers.

“I’m sure Queen Hedwig had made a wise decision regarding this greenhouse” Sylvia said rather automatically, though felt guilty about the ingenuity of the reply right after. She’d been in the Tretogor palace for over a year now, but the palace-talk still disturbed her. So she couldn’t help herself and added: “I think these are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything quite like them. I’m sorry about your father, Your Majesty. He seems to have excellent taste in flowers.”

“ _Had_ ” Radovid fixed. “Not _have_. He is quite deceased after all. I doubt much is left of his body.”

Sylvia stayed quiet.

“What is your name, Sorceress?”

“Sylvia, Your Majesty. Sylvia of Oxenfurt.”

“Oxenfurt…” The King repeated. “So, you are actually from Redania. It is hard to know with your kind. Are you from a family I might know of?”

“I doubt that. I’ve never met my father. My mother was a washerwoman. We had a one-room cottage outside the city.”

Radovid gave a dry chuckle. “How did you make your way to Aretuza then? I doubt sorceresses stepped outside their jeweled carriages to talk to washerwomen.”

Sylvia felt her throat getting dry. “In a moment of distress, I cast a spell. I didn’t know how to, it just happened. Madame Laux-Antille was by chance visiting a scholar friend in the Oxenfurt Academy. She felt the magic and came to investigate.”

“Then what? She simply took you away? Who paid for the tuition? Not your washerwoman mother, I assume.”

“No, Your Majesty. Aretuza has a tradition to take in girls who could cast spells without training. Though the number dwindled over years. Now it is more…”

“Elite?”

“I assume so. I had plenty of classmates whose parents were prominent servants of Redania, even members of your court.”

Addressing the King directly like that wasn’t allowed but Sylvia still wasn’t accustomed to palace etiquette. Radovid looked unbothered by that. He stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, then moved his slender fingers on the roses and stopped on top of a thorn. Sylvia wondered if he was actually enjoying the pain or was just testing if the thorn was actually sharp.

“What about your mother?”

“What about her, Your Majesty?”

“Did she simply hand you to the sorceress?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it simply. I remember she required some convincing. Madame Laux-Antille assured her that Aretuza would give me a better future than she could. And she was… compensated for her losses.”

“Losses?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I helped her with the washing.”

Radovid laughed dryly. “And now you’re in the palace.”

Sylvia stayed quiet. It had been two decades since Margarita Laux-Antille, the now-headmistress of Aretuza had taken her from her mother. Sylvia didn’t recall her mother being too affectionate, but she remembered clearly the nights she’d spent crying within the cold walls of the tower.

“I have heard you are accustomed to the Queen of Cintra.”

“Ciri?” Sylvia asked but immediately regretted calling the ashen haired girl that. Now there was no way she could deny knowing her.

“Yes, Cirilla. Granddaughter of Calanthe, fiancée of Emhyr var Emreis. I was told that you know her.”

His words took Sylvia off guard for a second. Often she forgot that the Emperor Emhyr var Emreis of Nilfgaard was engaged to a girl that was introduced to the world as Ciri, while the real Ciri was off in another dimension. Sylvia wouldn’t talk about that of course, both because that’s what Philippa wanted and because Sylvia believed that was safer for Ciri.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I met Cirilla when she was a child.”

“Under what circumstances?”

“She was traveling with her guardian, a witcher named Geralt. My mistress back then, Madame Yennefer of Vengerberg, she wanted me to meet them on the road. I briefly accompanied them during their travel and later I saw her during the last chapter meeting on Thanedd.”

That was the truth. But such a small portion of it.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg… I know of her. She died 3 months ago, along with the Witcher, right? I have also heard of the disaster on Thanedd. Leave a bunch of magic wielders alone and I don’t know what else could be expected.”

Sylvia stayed quiet. Every memory his words brought was hurting her.

“What do you feel about Cirilla’s marriage to Emhyr?”

Sylvia felt that if she lied, Radovid could tell with that piercing glance of his. Best she could do was offering him sections of the truth.

“I doubt such marriage would make her happy.” She replied. “Cirilla is…”

“Beautiful?”

“For sure. But I more meant her personality. She is unruly, stubborn, aggressive, and addicted to her freedom.” She responded, not realizing that the tips of her lips had curved into a soft smile. “I believe she would rather join a circus that become the Empress of Nilfgaard.”

“I see.” Radovid pulled his hand away from the roses. “Sadly, she is the heiress to one of the most important pieces of land on the continent, as well as being the granddaughter of Lioness of Cintra.”

Once again, Sylvia stayed quiet and looked down.

“My spies in the Nilfgaardian court are telling me that many nobles want to depose Emhry.” The King added, looking unbothered. Sylvia wondered why he was telling her such a thing, as well as feeling shocked that the Emperor of Nilfgaard actually had to worry about his subjects. “But more importantly, apparently there are talks that… that the Emperor’s fiancée is not the real Cirilla. That she is just a fake.”

Sylvia’s eyes opened widely. Had the most guarded secret of the Empire gotten discovered?

“When is the last time you saw Cirilla, Sylvia?”

“The chapter meeting on Thanedd.” Sylvia lied. She had seen Cirilla after Yennefer had brought her to the Lodge.

This time, it was Radovid’s turn to stay quiet. The King placed his hand on his chin and watched the intricate details of the marble flower pots but Sylvia could swear that his brain was working overtime.

“And what are your opinions of Philippa?”

Sylvia was taken aback. “Madame Eilhart? She saved my life. And she took me in as her apprentice.”

“Sure. That is not what I’m asking though.”

Sylvia gulped. It was hard to speak good of Philippa. She was thankful for everything, but it didn’t change the fact that the woman was cruel. “She is… hardworking.” 

“Most people in this palace are. But that’s not her defining feature, is it?”

“She is ambitious” Sylvia let the words escape her mouth. “And she is quite intelligent and observant.”

“I think she is quite the bitch.” Radovid replied. A burst of laughter escaped Sylvia’s mouth but then she gasped at her own lack of control and covered her mouth with her hands.

Damn it.

“And I see that you agree.” Radovid said with a playful tone and Sylvia could swear that she saw a smile appear on his lips, though only for a second. “Anyway… I expect we will have more conversations in future about your past, Sylvia of Oxenfurt. For now, you may leave.”

For a few seconds Sylvia stood there frozen, almost as if she wasn’t dying to get away from the King just a second ago.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, noticing her hesitancy.

“It’s just that… I’m sorry, Your Highness. I just thought that you would ask me to keep the contents of this conversation private.”

This time, Radovid actually laughed. But there was no joy in his laughter. “I have learned that nothing in this palace stays private, especially when they are about me. Now go. I wish to be alone.”

* * *

“So, what did he ask you?” Philippa inquired the moment Sylvia had entered the common area between hers and Cynthia’s chambers.

“She asked me about Ciri.”

Philippa raised an eyebrow. “What could he possibly wonder about Cirilla?”

“He asked me if it was true that I’d met her. And he asked me what I thought about her marriage to Emhyr var Emreis.”

Cynthia stiffened. Philippa grimaced.

“And what did you tell him?”

“That Ciri was a free-soul and would not enjoy the palace life.”

“Was that all? You’ve been gone a while, that can’t be the entirety of the conversation.”

“It was.” Sylvia lied. That night and next many to come, she would ask herself why she’d lied to Philippa to keep Radovid’s words private, especially even when the King himself hadn’t asked her to do so. “Well, most of the time I was there he just stood and looked at things.”

“Ah yes, that sounds like the brooding man-child he is.” Philippa rolled her eyes. “Anyways. Immediately come to me if he tells you anything else. And clean up, I don’t want to see you looking like a street urchin during the dinner.”

Sylvia stayed quiet as the sorceress left and a servant filled her wooden tub with jugs of hot water to bathe in. She and Cynthia got inside the tub together.

“So…”

“So, what, Cynthia?”

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” she giggled.

“If you’re looking yourself a monarch to have an affair with, I’d recommend one who doesn’t hate your guts for being a sorceress” Sylvia replied with a dry voice, sliding down to let her curls soak.

“Don’t tell me you don’t find him good looking.”

“He is the King of Redania.”

“And a man.”

“There are easier ways to get in trouble.”

“You’re no fun!” the blonde-haired sorceress giggled.

Sylvia didn’t reply. Her mind was still busy with Radovid’s words about Ciri but also with the almost-ominous smirk he had given to her.


	3. Coronation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia remembers the physical modifications she went through in Aretuza upon Yennefer's request. Philippa receives unfortunate news at Radovid's coronation ball. The King has a near-death experience that makes him rethink his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Fantasy-style violence, graphic descriptions of physical harm.

When a King died in Redania, traditionally his oldest son became the new king. However, the transition wasn’t always smooth. When there were no sons alive, the throne would be left to a grandson and if that was also absent, the eldest daughter. Such governments often faced opposition and rebellions, citing the common belief that women were unfit to rule. And in the case that the late-king did have a son but the son was not of age yet, a regency council would be formed from the late king's trusted advisors and his consort, if she was alive. The council would rule in the young king’s name until he would come of age, traditionally his 15th or 16th birthday, then there would be an official coronation.

That was the case for Radovid V of Redania, however, he was already about to turn 17. Even though his teachers and caretakers had stated time and time that the young King was extremely intelligent and mature, the regency council led by Queen-Mother Hedwig and sorceress Philippa Eilhart had blocked Radovid from ascending properly. But now, two of them no longer had an excuse to delay the coronation and the subsequent ball that was expected to draw a significant crowd of nobles to the capital city of Tretogor.

The entire week leading to the coronation day, Philippa’s mood was horrendous. She often scolded servants and her apprentices alike, openly talking about her mistrust in the young King’s ability to rule. Her apprentice Sylvia wondered if Philippa would ever face any sort of consequences for her actions and thought but the centuries-old sorceress clearly took all her steps carefully. Sylvia found her cruel and cunning but denying that she was intelligent and charismatic would be a lethal mistake. Besides, she tried not to think about politics and Philippa’s involvement in it. After all, she had not only saved Sylvia’s life but also had offered her a new life in the palace.

Needless to say, neither Sylvia nor her fellow apprentice Cynthia was invited to the coronation ceremony that took place in the royal cathedral but both of them could hear the bells from the window they were sitting near. Cynthia was leaning down slightly, letting the wind brush her blonde strands. She was beautiful. Though as it was customary for sorceresses to be so, it was impossible to know how much of the beauty was granted to her at birth and how much of it was enchantment. Unlike Sylvia’s unnatural bright-gold eyes, Cynthia’s body showed no symptoms of magical corruption.

At birth, Gods had given Sylvia a pair of blue eyes that her mother often complimented. However, the Gods had also given her a slender body like an elf’s, and that was a quality that was not appreciated at all in Aretuza, where young girls were turned into sorceresses both mentally and physically. Sylvia was brought to the magical sculptor short before she would turn 17, upon the request of Yennefer of Vengerberg, who was liked and disliked at Aretuza at the same time.

“The reason why we do this is because a sorceress is ought to be well equipped.” Yennefer had told Sylvia and three other pupils who were brought to the sculptor’s den. “You must be able to enchant without casting spells, to protect yourselves and your interests. Men are weak, yet they are in power. Sorceresses disrupt that unfortunate fact by being almost otherworldly with their perfection. Don’t think of these alterations as simple modifications. You have all proved to be adept with magic, which makes the sculptor’s work your given-right.”

Right after those words of Yennefer, the sculptor had hit all of them with the magical knife and worked until long after all four of the girls had passed out. Sylvia woke up the next day at noon on her bed, in pain and with fever, though also with perfectly shaped small but perky breasts and curvier hips. When she made her way to the basin with great difficulty and saw her new gold-colored eyes on the dusty mirror, a scream ascended her throat but all the voice that got out was a sob.

Thus, the idea that Cynthia might have been born the way she was caused a little bit of jealousy, but Sylvia fought that feeling well. She’d met her fellow apprentice the day she’d woken up in Tretogor and two of them have been inseparable since then.

“Cynthia, get away from the window. The wind will ruin your hair and we will have to explain that to Madame Eilhart.”

Both sorceresses were wearing matching gowns. The skirts were made up of thick Zerrikanian fabric with rich colors. The base color was red, and it was decorated with gold-colored lace to imitate the Redanian flag. The tops were black velvet, featuring portrait backs with intricate details and cleavage that was supported by incredibly tight corsets Philippa had insisted on. The elder sorceress was wearing a gown that was identical on base but had expensive intricate details and small jewels embedded all over the dress.

“The breeze is nice. Besides, I want to look at the cathedral. Maybe I’ll see something.”

“You won’t see anything.” Sylvia objected. “It’s too far.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes but listened to the sorceress with light-brown curls. Just an hour ago she’d had the “honor” of trying to put up Sylvia’s hair in a bun and needless to say, she wasn’t thrilled about that.

Two of them sat on the stools near the dining table in Cynthia’s room but did not touch the snacks on the table. Philippa had instructed them strictly that they weren’t to eat anything after the corsets were put on. Sylvia was hungry but had no intention to break the rule, as she was sure her breasts would burst out of the corset if she had a nibble of anything.

Soon enough, the bell of the Cathedral of Melitele rang 15 times, announcing that a new king was crowned. Sylvia wondered how different life would be for Philippa now, knowing from the brief interaction she’d had with him that Radovid was no pushover.

“Honorable Lords and Ladies, I present you, Radovid V, the King of Redania!”

Upon the cry of the castellan, the crowd in the palace gardens cheered and fireworks went off at the same time. Sylvia felt her breathing getting heavier and faster, causing her breasts to push the corset and hurt themselves. As discreetly as possible Cynthia placed her hand on Sylvia’s to calm her. She was aware that her fellow apprentice disliked fireworks since the explosions on Thanedd.

Radovid entered the garden with a face that looked like he was attending a funeral rather than his coronation celebration. Queen-Mother Hedwig followed him wearing a gown of a style that was mostly preferred by young maidens. _As if that could hide those hideous wrinkles_ , Philippa said to Sylvia and Cynthia telepathically and both sorceresses had to bite their lips not to laugh.

Three of them were walking right behind Hedwig, which once again showed how powerful Philippa was. Sylvia could feel the joy Philippa took from that but she herself would rather stay away from the King. A small army of aristocrats and ministers followed them. Discreetly, Sylvia reached out to them to read their thoughts, which was something Philippa had told her not to do as it often alerted the target. Before she would complete her concentration for the spell, she could feel the disdain targeted at Philippa. Feeling uneasy, she pulled her magic back and focused on breathing properly in the corset.

As the King climbed up the stairs to give his speech, Philippa and Hedwig took his side. Sylvia and Cynthia stayed back.

“Thank you, my Lords and my Ladies, for joining me tonight” Radovid said, not bothering to get loud. After all, it was up to the crowd to hear the historical words of the King. They immediately went silent and Sylvia could swear that she saw yet another smirk on the King’s lips, which lasted less than a second.

“Today marks an important date for me and for Redania. Since my father was murdered, this kingdom has gotten lazy. We have been stalled. But fear not, from this day and forward, Redania will regain its place as the Pearl of the North. That is our historical and divine right!”

If the crowd hadn’t gotten silent, they would now. It was extremely unusual for a newly crowned King to accuse his regency council of being lazy, especially considering his own mother and guardian were part of it. Though Sylvia supposed it was precisely because of that.

“Tomorrow is a new day and a day like no other. Even though it breaks my heart to say goodbye, tomorrow I shall do so since Queen-Mother Hedwig will be leaving for Arcsea to visit the hot springs there. My only solace is that our beloved sorceress Lady Eilhart has selflessly offered to accompany her.”

Centuries of self-control failed Philippa and she stared at the King with an open mouth, shock visible on her eyes. With that, not just Sylvia but most of the crowd understood that it was the first time that Philippa was hearing of this plan which seemed to be specifically made to get her and the Queen-Mother away from the palace.

Sylvia was scared to reach out to Philippa telepathically. So, she didn’t.

“So tonight, drink, eat, dance, and make merry. That is my first order as your King. Tomorrow, a new day will dawn.”

Radovid raised his goblet after finishing his words and the musicians started to play again. Cheers rose from the crowd, though the visible confusion remained. Radovid lowered his goblet without taking a sip and Sylvia once again saw the ominous smirk on his lips.

“I better go check on Philippa, I expect she will want to leave.” Cynthia said to Sylvia and the brown-haired sorceress felt startled by the familiarity in Cynthia’s tone. They had called their mistress Madame Eilhart or Lady Eilhart but never with her first name.

“Okay, I will come with you.”

“No.” Cynthia rejected rather firmly. “Someone should watch the King.”

“Well, clearly he doesn’t want to be watched.”

“It doesn’t matter. Someone needs to keep track in case he says something equally lunatic.”

“Cynthia! Someone will hear.”

“I’m sure they’d agree if they did.” The blonde sorceress replied and got lost in the crowd, appearing near Philippa short after. Two of them started to talk and Sylvia saw Cynthia placing her arm around Philippa’s back and escorting her outside the gardens.

Sylvia wasn’t sure what to do. She was surrounded by Redanian nobility in their best clothes and most were in the process of getting drunk or already there. There were bards, painters, fire eaters, countless servers, and half-naked women in masks. No expense was spared, yet the King himself didn’t seem to be partaking in any of the activities.

From a distance, Sylvia forced herself to watch Radovid but looking at the King made her feel uneasy. His brown hair was combed neatly, and his stubble was shaved off. His breeches and tunic were a perfect symbiosis of black, red, and gold. He was wearing an eagle-shaped brooch on his chest. The same symbol also appeared on his crown, which looked the perfect size for his head. Sylvia wondered if Kings got their crows altered to fit them.

For some time, she positioned herself at a corner and watched the King. Countless nobles came to him, quite a few of them introducing their daughters to him. Sylvia supposed it was expectable, now that the King was old enough. Yet, Radovid seemed rather uninterested in women, nobles, or the party. He had made his intentions as the King very clear in his short speech: _From this day and forward, Redania will regain its place as the Pearl of the North._

“My lady?”

Sylvia was startled but when she saw who was it that interrupted her thoughts, she had a soft smile. “Jan. You startled me.”

Jan was a royal guard in his twenties, which was surprisingly young for the position. He had baby blue eyes and blonde hair, as well as a face that made him look even younger than he was. Sylvia found his company pleasant, even though she had interacted with him rather briefly during the last couple of months when he guarded the sorceresses’ door.

“I’m sorry my lady, I didn’t mean to.”

“No need to call me a lady, Jan. I am not.”

Now it was Jan’s turn to be confused. “Then what shall I call you?”

“Sylvia is enough.”

Jan stayed quiet. It was extremely unusual to call anyone of importance with their first name in the palace. “Very well my-… Sylvia. I’m sorry, that is just strange. Please allow me to simply stick to calling you, _my lady_.”

Sylvia giggled. “So be it. Is something wrong, Jan?”

“Not quite. His Majesty requested the presence of Lady Eilhart. I’m afraid I couldn’t locate her in the crowd. I was hoping you could direct me to her whereabouts.”

She bit her lip and Jan immediately noticed that. The sorceress forced a smile. “Madame Eilhart wasn’t feeling well. Cynthia escorted her to her chambers. I’m afraid she won’t be able to see the King.”

“My lady… Are you asking me to tell the King his subject won’t be answering his summons?”

Sylvia bit her lip again. Jan was right. A smart young man he was. “No. That wouldn’t be a good idea, would it?”

“No, my lady.”

Sylvia sighed. She didn’t have many options. If she sent back Jan with a negative response, she risked angering the King, which could be dangerous for not only Jan but for Philippa and Cynthia as well. But if she sent Jan to Philippa’s chambers, the result wouldn’t be much different. She knew Philippa well enough to guess that she would not be answering the King’s summons, just out of spite if nothing.

“I will tell the King myself.” She concluded with a sigh.

“Your Majesty.”

“There must be a mistake.” Radovid looked at Sylvia from the portable throne he was sitting on. His voice was annoyed but his eyes had an entertained curiosity in them. “I asked for Eilhart, not for her servants.”

The sorceress for sure would prefer keeping her head down but her instincts stopped her from doing that. Doing her best to ignore the sour feeling in her stomach, she looked Radovid in the eye, though she was sure the corset was giving away her heavy breaths.

“Madame Eilhart was feeling unwell. My fellow apprentice Cynthia escorted her to her chambers. But I would be happy to relay a message if you’d like.”

Radovid stayed quiet. His fingers fiddled on the gemstones that were embedded on the small throne. Sylvia waited for him to say something, but the reply never came. So, the sorceress grew even more anxious.

Almost a full minute later, the King broke the silence. “Follow me.”

He stood up with the dexterity of a young fox and Sylvia once again found herself following the young king a step behind. A few of the party guests had attempted to follow them to lick the King’s boots but the guards quickly stopped them.

Nervously, Sylvia tried to keep her breathing regularly in order not to put too much pressure on the corsets. The restrictive piece of clothing had fit Cynthia’s body like a glove but for the curly-haired sorceress, it was torture. As Radovid walked through the second segment of the royal garden with fast steps, Sylvia internally swore at Philippa for dressing her like this.

Radovid stopped at the entrance of the hedge maze. “Catch up, sorceress. I don’t have all night.”

Her face getting red from both stress and lack of oxygen, Sylvia fastened her steps and followed the King inside the maze. She knew the maze wasn’t somewhere one could get lost inside but the hedges were much taller than she thought, reaching 7 feet at places.

“Do you know what one must do if they find themselves in a labyrinth, sorceress?”

So, he had forgotten her name. That was okay. If not better. “You place your hand on the left wall and keep moving without pulling your hand back.”

“That’s correct.” The King replied with a grin and placed his left hand on the hedge. Sylvia thought that even if he wasn’t a lunatic like Philippa claimed, he was certainly a troubled young man to be thinking these at his coronation party. “You find one stable thing that will not move. That will not change. And you use it to advance.”

Sylvia stayed quiet.

“Because your path may drag you through tunnels, trying to get you lost. But a smart man knows what to rely on. And more importantly, what not to rely on.”

Was he even getting anywhere?

“That’s no different for a King. A ruler must find something to base his strategy on, even amidst the madness.”

Ah yes, there was madness for sure.

Radovid pulled his hand back from the hedge as if it was made of fire and turned towards Sylvia, causing the girl to get startled.

“Tell me how you met Eilhart.”

The question wasn’t surprising, but Sylvia thought he knew the story already. “She found me lying near-dead on the ground when the attack on Thanedd happened. She brought me here to heal, then kept me as her apprentice.”

“That cannot be your first interaction with her?”

Sylvia thought. “I guess not, Your Grace. However, it may as well be. Madame Eilhart was never quite interested in Aretuza so I only stumbled upon her once before Thanedd.”

“That being?”

“She came to Aretuza to talk to one Madame Laux-Antille.”

“About what?”

“I am not sure, Your Grace. I was just a student back then. I only served Madame Eilhart at the bathhouse.”

“What was your impression of Philippa?”

Sylvia thought about that. She remembered Philippa being awful but that was not unusual for senior sorceresses.

“I thought she was somewhat scary.” Sylvia admitted. There was something in Radovid’s firm voice and piercing gaze that coerced her into telling the truth. If he were to ask more questions, especially about Ciri, Sylvia thought it could become a problem.

“She would tell me stories of ghouls and wraiths that kidnapped young princes when I was a kid.” Radovid said, a hazy look appearing in his eyes. Sylvia wasn’t surprised to hear Philippa having done that, but it was rather strange hearing Radovid talk about his past, like a normal man.

But Sylvia wasn’t stupid. By then, she could tell that the King wanted something from her.

“Madame Eilhart… knows a lot of stories and myths.” She tried to come up with an answer.

“Well, she can learn even more in Arcsea.”

The sorceress bit her lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Your Grace. It’s just that… Madame Eilhart hadn’t told us that she would be leaving.”

“Naturally. She learned that tonight herself. Enough with Eilhart though. Tell me about the infamous White Wolf.”

“Geralt?” Sylvia was surprised once again. “I don’t know him too well. He was uhm… close with Madame Yennefer.”

“Yennefer… Yes, I hear her name quite often. How common is it for a sorceress to be intimate with a witcher, Sylvia?”

So, he remembered her name.

“Unheard of, Your Grace.” She replied. “I believe their… relationship went back a long time.”

“You look sad.”

“I am. Madame Yennefer was incredibly smart and had a loving side once you got to know her. And the Witcher was quiet and grumpy, yet he was nice in his own way.” She smiled a bit. “I met Madame Yennefer when I was in Aretuza. The alumni can return to Aretuza and barrow an apprentice for their projects, given that the headmistress allows.”

“And she borrowed you.”

“A couple of times, yes. I helped her enchant some herbs in the laboratory. And after that-…”

Sylvia’s response was cut short when she felt a tingling sensation all over her body. The buzz traveled from her head to her toes, paralyzing every muscle. Her body gave up rather easily and combined with the way the corset stopped her from breathing, she collapsed.

Radovid gasped. Something she thought he’d never do.

Once her face hit the grass that was wet from dew, she felt something warm on her head. She placed her fingers on her forehead and the sticky blood welcomed her immediately. After that she spotted the bead on the ground, which was red with her blood. She instantly felt the magic coming from the object.

Radovid’s vision was even scarier. Rather out of the blue, a man had appeared behind the hedges. It was hard to see anything about him since he was wearing a dark tunic over his dark breeches, as well as having covered his head and his face with some sort of turban also colored dark. The only distinguishing feature was his naked arms, which were big and veiny with large muscles. Right after appearing he had said a small incantation toward his hand and threw the bead at Sylvia, causing her to collapse on impact.

But she was still conscious. Every inch of her body ached and coerced her into closing her eyes and falling asleep, but she fought it. The feeling was too similar to what she’d felt on Thanedd, lying on the concrete and feeling unable to move. She despised that.

With a rather loud groan, she stood up. The first thing she saw was the man approaching Radovid with an elven dagger in his hand.

An assassin on the King’s coronation day? Bold move, though the message would be extra effective.

As much as the cursed dress allowed, Sylvia lunged forward. Without thinking much, she decreased the distance between herself and the assassin, casting a rather easy spell at him. As she finished the incantation, a small ball of wind left her fingers and hit the assassin on the back. The man didn’t fall but momentarily lost his balance, which alerted him of Sylvia’s existence but also gave the King the chance to dodge.

Radovid took the chance without thinking. His instincts were as sharp as his calm mind. He considered yelling for the guards but remembered quickly that he had ordered them to not follow two of them. He hadn’t wanted anyone to hear the conversation and now he could pay for the paranoia with his life.

Watching the King dodge and attempting to put some distance between himself and the assassin, Sylvia felt impressed and relaxed. Philippa trained her apprentices every day for various dangers, but it was different actually facing one. A King frozen with fear would only make her job harder.

Unfortunately, the assassin was faster than both of them. He opened his palm towards Sylvia and the sorceress saw a ball of fire growing, giving her only a few seconds to react. She opted for casting a protective ward Philippa had taught her, however it wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t burnt but the speed of the fireball pushed her back for meters and she only stopped when her back hit the hedge and the thorns of the bushes pierced through her dress.

Right after that, the assassin turned back to Radovid, who had grabbed a medium-sized flowerpot as a weapon. The King jumped on a stone bench nearby to attempt escaping but the hedges were simply too high. Regardless, he successfully dodged 3 consecutive dagger attacks, which gave Sylvia enough time to get herself out of the hedges.

The assassin noticed the movement behind him immediately. He raised his palm once again and Sylvia felt a choking feeling on her throat. At the same time, he kept pushing Radovid towards a corner with his dagger.

The grip on Sylvia’s throat tightened and the sorceress felt tears coming down from her cheeks. There was no way two of them were beating this man.

With that knowledge, Sylvia’s survival instincts took over. On Thanedd, she had collapsed with the knowledge that she’d die, and she’d spent minutes lying in a puddle of her own blood, thinking about death and how cold it felt. The trauma was still too fresh, and she would do anything to prevent that from happening again.

With a loud groan, she cast another protective spell, which stopped the choking but there was still a significant difference between her and the assassin. Swearing at Philippa because of the dress she lunged forward, which caused the assassin to turn towards her. Radovid once again took advantage of the distraction and threw himself on the ground, rolling away from the assailant. Stopping the man’s dagger attack with a minor ward that took too long to cast, Sylvia won them only a few more seconds. Then she extended her hand to the King and he took it to stand up.

Once they were finally on the same side against the assassin and holding hands, Sylvia decided to do the only thing she knew that would save them. She let Radovid’s hand go, turned away, and used all her remaining energy to open a portal.

Under so much stress, she couldn’t even think of a place. _Safety. Quiet. Far_., she thought.

A large circle of orange and black lights appeared in front of them and Sylvia almost collapsed with the sudden drain of energy. Holding herself at the last minute, she grabbed the King’s hand.

“We need to go.”

“What? Are you crazy!?”

“No, but he is!”

“That’s ridiculous. We need to run!”

Noticing that the assailant was seconds away, Sylvia panicked. Trying to convince the King was a waste of time so she wrapped her arm around his waist then jumped inside the portal.

A beam of energy surrounded them and Sylvia wondered if she’d done a lethal mistake.


	4. Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The portal takes the King and the sorceress to a place Sylvia is very familiar with. Two of them have to stick together and quickly learn how to work together to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can use the following map if you would like to visualize places I mention in this chapter: https://witcher3map.com/v/#3/120.00/120.00

Even for magic wielders, portals were mysteries at times. For experienced sorcerers, they were a reliable transportation method, but they proved to be unreliable during emergencies. Not only the sorcerer would need to have a calm, clear mind when opening a portal but they also needed to have a clear sense of where they wanted to go. After that, it was all talent and at times, also a little bit of luck. And even when everything went correct, there was still danger: Portals left a magical residue, which made them traceable.

Sylvia was relatively well trained. She was an average student in Aretuza but receiving personalized lessons from both Yennefer of Vengerberg and Philippa Eilhart, she had advanced quickly. That being said, sorcerers lived long and took their sweet time getting wiser, so Sylvia was a baby in sorcerer years.

In addition, when she opened the portal, her mind couldn’t be further from calm. An assassin had managed to sneak inside the King’s coronation party, and he had chosen the perfect moment to strike. Once she was alone with Radovid inside the hedge maze, Sylvia had no means to call for help. She had tried to fight off the assailant, but he proved to be much stronger than she was. So, she opened a portal in panic, not knowing where it would end up.

Right before the assassin would attack again, Sylvia had wrapped her arm around the King’s waist and pushed both of them inside the portal. That most likely saved their life because as she fell inside the pool of chaos, Sylvia felt the assassin’s blade leave a cut on her back.

Leaving the portal, the first thing she noticed was that, wherever the portal took them, it was warmer than Tretogor. Second thing, she realized that she had failed to place the portal on the ground. Two of them fell from a height of roughly ten feet. Radovid’s instinct kicked in immediately and he rolled over on the ground, but Sylvia fell on her left elbow and the pain caused her to moan.

For a few seconds, she lied on the grass, trying to collect her thoughts and energy. When she raised her head up, all she could see was grass and distant lights. Before she could analyze where they could be, she felt someone turn her over on the ground and then saw the King’s pair of worried brown eyes.

“Sylvia! Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” she murmured then Radovid pulled her up on her feet. He seemed to be less damaged than she was, though his expensive costume was ruined and the heavily jeweled crown above his head had cracks all over it. Sylvia’s dress, on the other hand, was torn and her hair had left the bun Cynthia had spent an hour making.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Saved your life!” Sylvia yelled at the King. Her back, her arm, her head… everything hurt. The fear she felt for King disappeared under her pain. “If we were a second late, he would have stabbed us to death!”

“I can see that.” Radovid said with a rather calm voice as his eyes moved to Sylvia’s back. “You are bleeding.”

“Probably” the sorceress replied. She had to close her eyes and breathe to prevent herself from leaning in and vomiting.

Radovid stayed quiet for a few seconds and just looked around. There wasn’t much to see around since the clock was nearing midnight.

Until…

First, a dozen bells rang at the same time, 12 times. Then on the horizon, countless pyres lit up, revealing the city sitting in front of them behind the river.

“Oxenfurt!?” Radovid yelled. “Why the hell did you bring us to Oxenfurt!?”

But his question had to remain unanswered. Not too far ahead, a new portal appeared, and the assassin stepped out of it.

Radovid’s survival instincts kicked in once again and this time, he wrapped his arm around Sylvia’s waist and jumped behind a large bush with her. Sylvia was about to gasp but the King placed his palm on her mouth as they fell and kept his arms wrapped around her to prevent her from moving and making noise with the dress.

The assassin immediately started to search around. Sylvia watched him behind the bush with fear in her golden eyes. Her back was rested on Radovid’s chest and the sorceress could hear his heartbeats. And it shocked her how regular and calm they were.

The assassin opened his palm and whispered something towards his fingers. A dozen or so small balls of light left his hand and started to fly around, blocking the path towards the bridge to Oxenfurt.

“We have to get inside the city” Radovid whispered. “We’ll be safe there”

“We can’t walk towards the bridge, he’d see us!”

“Sshh. Be quieter. There is no other way. If we stay here, he will eventually find us.”

Sylvia stayed quieter and closed her eyes. Both not seeing the assassin and Radovid’s regular heartbeats calmed her nerves momentarily and brought her clarity.

She knew why the portal had brought them there.

“There is another way,” she said softly.

“How?”

“We’re near Carsten. It’s a small village, towards the north. Technically it’s Oxenfurt outskirts but it’s a bit of a walk.”

“You know where we are?”

“Of course” Sylvia looked down. “I grew up around here”

It didn’t take much to convince Radovid, mostly because he was smart enough to know that there was no way they could enter Oxenfurt without facing the assassin. The city had two entrances, to the West and to the East. Unless they could find a way to sail to Velen unnoticed, the Western gate was not an option. And the assassin was patrolling all over the Eastern gate, using a type of magic Sylvia had never faced before. She would need to ask Philippa about that later.

Without talking much, the King and the sorceress started walking. As they walked towards the East, away from the city, it became darker and darker. Sylvia could easily conjure some light, but she hesitated to use magic. The assassin was clearly a talented magic wielder and she couldn’t guess how good his ability to track magical residue was. Thankfully the beaten path proved to be reliable and two of them walked over an hour before they entered the small forest south of Est Tayiar. Sylvia knew in the ruins of that elven city Philippa had a small lab though it wasn’t quite a topic of conversation.

Strange enough, it was Radovid who broke the silence.

“How much longer?”

“Another hour or so” Sylvia replied. “Once we leave the forest, there will be a few small villages. Wisebirch is the one closest to the lake.”

“And what do you hope to find in that forsaken village?”

“That forsaken village is your demesne, Your Grace.” Sylvia replied, feeling that her patience was running out. She was hurt, tired, scared, and significantly concussed.

Radovid stayed quiet.

“I am hoping to find shelter there for the night. In the morning we can get to Oxenfurt.”

“How many years has it been since you left… what was it, Wisebirch?”

Now it was Sylvia’s turn to stay quiet. But the King didn’t give up. “Tell me, sorceress. How long has it been? Decades? Centuries? I doubt you’re a crone like Eilhart, but it is impossible to know with your kind.”

Sylvia bit her lip. “23 years.”

“And how old were you when you left?”

“I was 15.”

“Bloody hell.” Radovid gave his signature dry chuckle that lacked any hint of amusement. “You don’t look a day older than me.”

“Magic allows us to choose the age we appear.”

“And you decided to look like a shy peasant maiden on her wedding night? Careful or you might trick a boy or two.”

If Radovid knew how little sorceresses were exposed to men before they would leave Aretuza and if he also knew she technically had never graduated…

“The way we look is decided by magical sculptures in Aretuza, Your Grace.”

Radovid looked surprised, which caused him to stay quiet for a few seconds. “How did you use to look then?”

What did that have to do with their survival struggle? “Smaller. Much less noticeable. I used to have blue eyes.”

Radovid stayed silent for maybe ten minutes, which Sylvia welcomed. But then, the King went on with the attack. “If you are almost 40, why do you let Eilhart treat you like a damn child?”

“Because I am a child to her.” Sylvia replied. She had slowed down significantly because the dress was making it impossible to walk among the birches. “Since we don’t age normally… Well, we take our time growing I guess.”

“You are telling me you have the maturity of a child then?” Radovid grinned, sounding entertained. “That explains a lot about sorceresses actually. If I knew this was the case, I would have forced myself to be more patient with your kind. Perhaps even start carrying around some sweets, in case one of the court mages got cranky.”

Sylvia couldn’t take it anymore. Between the shock, the pain, and the struggle to walk with the ridiculous dress and heeled shoes, she was simply drained. When Radovid teased, she simply let her body fall on the cold dirt and extended her legs as she sat on the cold ground. “What do you want from me?” she yelled at the King. As she got louder, the pain on her head throbbed harder. “I’m not Philippa. I serve her. Do you think she treats me any differently than she treats you, Your Grace!? Why do you hate sorceresses this much? Do you know how many girls in Aretuza were bought from peasant families? Bought like cattle! Beaten into submission, not allowed to look the way they are born, not allowed to ever love or have families! The only kindness I ever received was Philippa saving my life and that was only because she thought she could get information out of me!”

Radovid stayed quiet. Sylvia placed her head on her palms, immediately regretting the words that had left her mouth. Was she in trouble?

For a while, there was no noise other than the summer wind hitting the leaves in the forest and distant footsteps of shy animals. The King eventually broke the silence he had created himself.

He extended his hand towards Sylvia. And the sorceress could swear that for the first time, he didn’t look like he hated everything. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

* * *

“Just like you remembered?”

“No. It used to look better”

When they arrived at Wisebirch, Sylvia had troubles recognizing the village she’d grown up in. Most of the houses she remembered were still there but there were also quite a few new ones. The birch tree in the village square looked like it had seen better days and so did everything else. The streets were covered with mud and crap.

The sorceress expected the King to complain but he said nothing. He was a pain in the ass, but Sylvia had to give credit when it was due; Radovid was an extremely resilient young man. Well, growing up with Philippa Eilhart as your guardian did that to someone, she supposed.

When they reached to the two-room house, Sylvia felt like her heart was beating itself to death. The paint on the interior had cracked and the wooden fence only had a few standing pieces. However, there was still a laundry line between the house and the birch tree nearby, which had a few pieces of bedsheets drying on it.

“Are you ever going to knock?”

Ignoring Radovid, Sylvia inhaled loudly and closed her eyes. One knock followed by another. There was no response.

“What do you know? I guess things tend to change and people tend to move after 23 years.”

Radovid had barely finished his sentence before the door opened and an elderly woman with curly hair looked at them with angry eyes.

“Who the devil is that!?”

Sylvia couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move.

“Are you from the circus? What are you doing at my door in the middle of the night wearing ridiculous dresses like that!?”

A tear fell down the sorceress’ cheek.

“Sylvia, say something maybe.” Radovid nudged.

Hearing the name, the old woman’s eyes opened. “Sylvia? Is that… is that you? That is you! Sylvia? But… You look barely older than when I last saw you. How… How… Ho…”

The elderly woman placed her hand on her heart and made a wheezing sound. Before she could collapse, however, Sylvia lunged forward and placed her fingers on her mother’s forehead and cast a rather complicated illusion spell. Earlier that night she might have screwed up against the assassin, but Sylvia was still the apprentice of the best illusion mage ever lived.

After the spell, the elderly woman immediately calmed down. Regardless, her shock was obvious. “How, Liv? How?”

“Mama…” a word finally left Sylvia’s throat. “It’s all magic, mama.”

“Witchcraft?”

“Witchcraft.”

“Who is this man?”

_Radovid V, the King of Redania and son of late-King Vizimir._

“Nobody, mama. Please let us in.”

The elderly woman moved aside, and the King and the sorceress entered the house. There wasn’t much in there. A mattress on the floor, a small table, two chairs, a wooden wardrobe that looked half a century old, and a few small chests to hold crap.

“Liv, you’re bleeding!”

“We had a small accident, mama. Can you please find us some clothes?”

The woman nodded and walked to the other room. Both Radovid and Sylvia could hear her rummage through things.

“How the hell is she so calm?” The King asked.

“I cast a spell on her. She should be calm and… well, obedient, for a couple of hours.”

“Calm and obedient… I suppose you learned the spell from Eilhart.”

“Yes.”

Radovid scuffed.

The old woman came back inside the room, holding two pairs of cotton breeches and two tunics. They looked exceptionally clean for peasant clothes, but it helped that they were in the house of the village’s washerwoman.

“The Barleys left these a while ago to be washed but then some they went to cut some wood and never came back. I suppose they wouldn’t mind you wearing them.”

Sylvia nodded.

“I will… I will go wait in the other room while you two change.”

Neither of them stopped the woman from leaving.

“This is very strange, if not awkward.” Radovid commented.

Sylvia exhaled. She was overwhelmed. “It’s a strange spell. She will feel better once she sleeps it off.”

“Why would you cast such spell on your own mother?”

“I haven’t seen her in 23 years, I panicked! She panicked too. I thought she would have a heart attack.”

“I think you were just scared of the conversation that could happen.”

This time, Sylvia scuffed. Then the King turned his back.

“What’s wrong, Your Grace?”

“Are you not going to change?”

“Oh” Sylvia felt like an idiot. Mostly because she had no means to take the dress of herself. And there was no way her mother could figure out how to undo a dress of that kind.

“Uhm…”

“What?”

“I… need help undoing the straps on the back”

Radovid didn’t reply but turned around and walked towards the sorceress. Sylvia turned around and did her best to take her curly hair out of the way.

The King’s fingers touched her naked back and Sylvia recoiled.

“Are my fingers cold?”

“Yes but… it’s okay”

“They’ve always been,” he said, almost with a sad voice. Then he said something Sylvia was sure she’d never hear from him. “I am sorry”

“It is alright”

“Your wound needs to be cleaned”

“It will have to wait”

Once the corset straps were undone, Sylvia held the dress from its collar. Radovid turned around and took a few steps back. Then the sorceress heard him shuffle out of his own clothes. Stressed, she got rid of every single unnecessary detail Philippa had put on her, and once only her undergarments remained, she put on the brown breeches and the green tunic. Both were too large for her, but it would do.

For a while, both the young King and the sorceress waited their backs turned towards each other, scared to be the first one to turn. In the end, it was Radovid who broke the silence. “Are you done?”

“Yes”

“Good”

Both of them turned around and washed as much as possible with the towels and the bucket of water the washerwoman had placed on the table for them. Sylvia felt happy about getting rid of the exaggerated make-up.

As she calmed down, Sylvia noticed that Radovid looked rather natural cleaning himself with a bucket of water, which was something she would not associate with King of Redania.

“Is there a particular reason as to why you are staring at me?”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace” Sylvia looked down. “I am just surprised. I expected you to…”

“Have a harder time with my surroundings?”

“Precisely.”

“My father used to bring me along to his hunting trips. He insisted that we would take care of ourselves without servants.”

Sylvia stayed quiet. She didn’t think Radovid would want to talk about his murdered father, on the night he had faced an assassin. Instead, she walked inside the second room of the house, only to find her mother standing at staring at the wall without any expressions.

“I will never cast that spell again.” she murmured to herself. Then she grabbed the woman by her hand and lead her back to the main room. There, she quietly helped her mother lie on the bed and covered her with the blanket nearby.

“Liv… Look at us. Almost like you’re the mama and I’m the babe.”

Sylvia bit her lip not to tear up. “Yes, mama. Now sleep. We will talk in the morning.”

Radovid watched from a distance but stayed quiet. Then as Sylvia walked back, he started to rummage the cabinets, like a common thief.

“Your Grace?”

He didn’t reply but kept searching. He only stopped when he emerged from one of the cabinets with a bottle half full of vodka.

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. Well, she wouldn’t judge him. He had almost got killed.

“Let me find you a mug”

“It’s for your back”

“Oh”

Two of them walked to the second room without talking. Almost as if she had never stopped living in the cottage, Sylvia found a few blankets to make makeshift bedrolls.

Radovid in the meantime helped himself with one of the clean towels the washerwoman had lying around and poured the vodka generously on the cloth. He walked behind Sylvia and started to wait. The sorceress waited dumbfounded for a while but eventually gave in to the situation and pulled the tunic up to her neck.

Radovid undid the clasps of Sylvia’s bra, and the sorceress placed her hands on her breasts to prevent the bra from falling. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks out of embarrassment, but Radovid gave no signs of being disturbed.

When the alcohol met with her wound, Sylvia bit her lip and wheezed. It took a lot of effort not moaning in pain, but Sylvia wouldn’t allow herself.

“It’s not too deep but you would risk infection without cleaning it properly.”

“Then I thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

After the cleaning was done, Sylvia noticed the King quietly getting inside one of the makeshift beds she had prepared. Quietly, she did the same, then two of them went completely silent for minutes.

“Your Grace?” Sylvia lost against her own curiosity in the end.

“Sorceress?”

“I… I am just a little bit surprised.”

“At what?”

“At how well you’re taking all this. I met people much less important than you in the palace and… I think they would rather die than leave Tretogor.”

“And I would do anything than die. My father was murdered, Sylvia. I learned that survival is no easy task, even for a King. But I will live. If nothing, out of sheer sternness.”

Sylvia remained quiet. She thought about what a strange man Radovid was and that prevented her from noticing that she was falling asleep.

* * *

The sorceress opened her eyes to the first light of the morning, which was not too long after she had fallen asleep. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was and what had happened the night before.

The ball… The assassin… The Portal…

Her mother…

When she turned her head, she saw Radovid sitting on the makeshift bed and folding his coronation robe inside out, which hid most of the jewels on it. From the look on his face and the bags under his eyes, Sylvia could tell that he had not slept for a minute.

“Morning, sorceress. Ready to go?”

Sylvia managed to get up without a groan. The concussion from the previous night had settled in and her bruises and wounds hurt only more now. Without replying to the King, she folded her own dress.

“Yes, Your Grace. We can leave.”

“It’s probably best if we do so without the village folk are awake. I assume you will need to converse with your mother?”

Sylvia bit her lip. “No, Your Grace. I… don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I shouldn’t be back in her life. And she shouldn’t be back in my life. That’s the way of Aretuza”

Radovid didn’t reply.

Sylvia folded the blankets she had used to make the beds and placed them where she’d found them. Then she opened the window to let the wind in, which caused a few towels to fall off the stool nearby but that was what she wanted. Then she picked up the vodka bottle.

Two of them walked inside the main room quietly, where the old woman was still sleeping. Sylvia put the empty vodka bottle near the woman’s hand. Then she raised both her hands and chanted a spell. A small trail of purple smoke left her fingers and entered the old woman’s nose, then disappeared.

“What the hell was that?”

“A sleeping spell. Sort of. She will wake up in a few hours with a headache and no memory of last night.”

“Like a very bad hangover. That’s why you put the vodka bottle there.”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Can we go now?”

Sylvia’s voice cracked. “Can I please have a moment? I will join you outside.”

“Do not be late.”

Once the King left, Sylvia sat on the bed and held the old woman’s hand inside her own. A few tears fell to her cheeks.

“I love you, mama. Farewell.”

“Are you ready now?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sylvia replied, closing the door behind them. The sun was getting stronger by the minute but thankfully none of the villagers were out yet. “It is a long way to Oxenfurt.”

“And even a longer way to Tretogor. And I don’t wish to be far from my throne a minute longer.”

* * *


	5. Games of Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sides start forming in the Tretogor Palace and both groups need Sylvia on their side. While Philippa trusts Cynthia to use their friendship, Radovid decides to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Explicit sexual content, profanities
> 
> (Also thanks everyone who messaged me on insta! I haven't gotten to answering them yet but I read them. :) As requested, I'll do my best to update the story more regularly)

The library was rich in dust but even richer in books that were so old, it was impossible to read the labels on them. If that wasn’t enough, most of them were placed on top of each other without a specific reason other than simply filling the shelves. The ordering got worse towards the upper shelves, which were only reachable by ladders.

When the book she pulled brought along a large pile of dust, Sylvia coughed. Unlike Aretuza’s well-kept beautiful library, the section that belonged to Philippa Eilhart in the library of Tretogor palace was an absolute mess. The sorceress felt her eyes tear up as dust particles made their way inside, but she forced herself to persevere through the inconvenience and finish sorting the shelf.

In all honesty, it wasn’t a horrible punishment considering the crime. When she had explained to Philippa what happened on the night of Radovid’s coronation, she had expected a verdict much more damning than the simply cleaning Philippa’s library. After all, she had not only failed to stop a single assassin, but also had taken the King inside an unstable portal instead of trying to signal Philippa. Sylvia knew in that moment there was no way for her to reach to Philippa or Cynthia, but she hadn’t brought that up when Philippa scolded her. Besides, even if she was innocent from that crime, she had still dragged the King around in Oxenfurt outskirts before finding refuge in her childhood home.

After spending the night in Sylvia’s mother’s house, the King and the sorceress walked back to Oxenfurt, where Radovid was welcomed by the guards in absolute shock. Most knew what he looked like from the popular sketches and the crown on his head told no lies, even when it was cracked. Radovid furiously ordered the guards to take two of them to the barracks, where they were given rooms to bathe in, clothes, and food. After that, exhausted and injured Sylvia fell asleep once again. Once she woke up Philippa was already there with Cynthia.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Cynthia woke the curly-haired sorceresses up with a grin.

“Cynthia?”

“That’s me, princess. What, would you rather have your king kiss you awake?”

“Shut up.” Sylvia murmured and pulled herself up on the bed. “What time is it?”

“Almost sundown. Philippa brought us here with a portal the moment she heard what happened.”

“How did she hear?”

“Well, needless to say, they noticed in the palace that the King was gone but they were searching the lake and the surroundings. Then Oxenfurt guards used one of the academy sorcerers to contact Philippa.”

“Where is she now?”

“Talking to the King. Quite the adventure you two had, eh?” Cynthia grinned.

“Stop joking. He could have died.”

“So, could you.”

“I doubt anyone would bother sending an assassin after me.” Sylvia murmured. “Can you help me up?”

“No, not really. You look like you will either faint or vomit.”

“Fair enough. Neither of those is wrong.”

After that, Philippa came in to visit Sylvia and surprisingly, asked no questions. Close to the evening three of them returned to the palace with a portal. Radovid insisted on spending the night in Oxenfurt and traveling back with the royal flagship.

Upon the King’s orders, the sorceresses were forbidden from talking about what happened. Philippa explained to the palace that the King had gotten a bit drunk and took a long walk off the palace grounds. It was unusual but knowing how grand the ball was, it was a passing lie.

On the night of the coronation, the King had ordered that the Queen-Mother would leave for the duchy of Arcsea and Philippa Eilhart would accompany her. However, Philippa cleverly maneuvered her way around what had happened and insisted that neither she nor the Queen-Mother should leave. But Radovid simply disregarded that and ordered the sorceress to pack up for a trip that would last a month. At least Sylvia heard so from Cynthia. She spent next four days in her bed, resting and healing, meaning that she neither had the chance to send off Philippa (and Cynthia since she insisted on accompanying their mistress) nor talking to the King about what had happened.

Now, on the fifth day, she was back up. It was scary being alone in the palace but there was something freeing about not having Philippa around. On the first day she ate her breakfast in her room, then dressed in cotton breaches and a wool tunic, which made her feel like it was the most comfortable she had been in a very long time. After that, she made her way to the library and started to clean it as Philippa had ordered her during their short conversation, they had in Tretogor the night she had returned.

Sylvia had told Philippa what had happened with Radovid rather half-heartedly. She had no reason to do so but she opted for protecting the King’s privacy. She skipped the parts where Radovid talked about his father and insisted that the King had simply avoided talking to her. Philippa believed her. After all, it was not unusual for the angsty King to do so.

She was convinced that it would take her pretty much the entire month to clean and catalog the library section so around afternoon she decided to call it a day. It was certainly early, but her concussion was still tiring her. So not even bothering to finish the shelf she placed the books she was holding randomly on the table nearby and coughed a few times to get the dust out of her lungs.

“Still ill?”

The voice startled Sylvia but once the gaze of her golden eyes landed on the source, a soft smile appeared on her lips. “Jan… You scared me for a second.”

The young guard with blond hair and blue eyes answered Sylvia’s smile with one of his own, though his also contained a hint of shyness. On top of his leather breeches, he was wearing a dark red gambeson, which had the Redanian eagle embroidered on the chest with rich, black fabric. Sylvia thought he couldn’t be older than thirty, but it was difficult to know especially since that would be too young to be one of the King’s Royal Guards. But then again, she had heard great things about Jan and his skills.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”’

“It’s alright. I am not ill; I was just dusting. Congratulations are in order, for your promotion.”

The guard blushed like a little boy. “Thank you, my lady. I will go down as the first guard in the history of Redania who got promoted for failure.”

Failure? What did he mean? Was Jan aware of what happened on the coronation night? Was Philippa’s lie not good enough? “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“The King was in danger on his coronation night. I failed to keep him safe.”

“You… know what happened?”

“No, but your reaction confirms it.”

Shit.

“Besides,” the young man added. “I am not too stupid. Well, I try not to be. If I’m told my Lady Eilhart that it is not my business, then it is not my business. But I’m aware that this was demoting others rather than promoting me.”

“Perhaps.” Sylvia replied, not knowing what to say to the guard. Her eyes lingered over the short pike he was carrying. Taking advantage of her haziness, Jan turned his head and focused his sight on Sylvia’s face. If it wasn’t for the training Philippa had given to her apprentices regarding being perceptive, he would have gotten his way. But Sylvia noticed.

“Is… everything alright, Jan?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“You were staring at my face a second ago.”

Now the guard blatantly blushed, “I am sorry. I…”

“The eyes?”

“Yes, my lady. Forgive me.”

“They used to be blue like yours.” Sylvia replied with a sad smile and the guard looked not only confused but also embarrassed. She decided to change the topic. “Did they give you library duty? Or do you happen to be a lifelong learner?”

“I actually brought you a message.” The guard replied with distress in his voice. “His Majesty has requested your presence during the dinner service tonight.”

* * *

Philippa’s long nails dug onto the bedsheets, pulling them from where they were placed. When she squeezed her hands shut, the sheets followed along, getting the large bed even messier than it was. Her body moved back and forth, shaking the pile of pillows behind her back. When the sorceress arched her back, her dark hair touched the headboard, but she was too busy enjoying herself to notice the risk of hitting her head.

Across her, Cynthia was naked just like Philippa. The blonde-haired apprentice was on all fours with her back arched down and her bottom up, and her slender arms were wrapped around Philippa’s pale legs. Cynthia’s lips were on Philippa’s entrance, whipping the master sorceress with strikes of her tongue. And with each strike, Philippa swung back and forth like a feather. Noticing that, Cynthia took her sweet time pleasing her mistress, giving her a taste of her own medicine. After all, Philippa was infamous for teasing her partners to the level of getting tears out of them.

When Philippa’s breathing fastened and her moans became higher pitched, Cynthia pulled her mouth back. Looking into the other woman’s eyes, she licked her lips. “You want more, Madame Eilhart?” she asked, with a voice that was suspiciously innocent. In return, Philippa grunted and unable to help herself, pressed her thighs together. It was a game she loved playing with her partners but now that Cynthia was edging her, she made a mental note to show the next victim a bit more mercy.

Cynthia grinned once again, then gently climbed on top of Philippa. Ignoring that it was unusual for the older sorceress, she pressed her lips on Philippa’s as their hands intertwined naturally. Their legs followed suit: While their tongues explored each other’s mouths, their legs tangled, locking their soaking wet folds. Philippa placed her hands on Cynthia’s buttocks, and let her nails dig deep, then she pushed and pulled her. As their folds stimulated each other, Cynthia also joined Philippa in moaning. Soon enough, the moans of the master sorceress became louder and louder, eventually becoming one long scream of pleasure as her body shook like electricity was moving through her. Right after her climax, she fell back on the bed, whimpering and shivering.

With a victorious grin on her face, Cynthia lied beside Philippa on the bed. She cupped Philippa’s cheek with her slender hand, then using her index finger, she trailed down through her chin and neck, reaching the firm breasts that were too big for her hand to grab completely. She tried nonetheless, giving Philippa a firm squeeze. Then, enjoying the master sorceress’s whimpers, she moved her head on Philippa’s chest and started to gently poke her nipples with her lips.

“Cynthia…” Philippa said with a moan.

“Yes, Madame Eilhart.”

“You’re one bad little girl.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Cynthia grinned, with no remorse on her expression.

Philippa, not used to being so vulnerable, stood up from the bed and quickly covered her body with a silk kimono. They had managed to heat each other up until then but the castle in Arcsea was always freezing. The small structure was built on a cliff near the semi-frozen sea, distant from anything one might force themselves to call “a town”. A truly miserable place. No wonder Radovid had chosen it for Philippa.

Quietly, she walked in front of the large mirror. The room was nothing compared to what she had in Tretogor but she had immediately ordered better furniture the moment they had arrived. The royal room was needless to say given to the Queen-Mother but Philippa managed to land herself one of the best in all the castle. If nothing, the sorceress had to accept that the view was fantastic. But having lived that long, Philippa knew she preferred cities.

“What are you thinking about?” Cynthia eventually broke the silence. She had put on a rather large cotton tunic while Philippa was busy redoing her braids.

“Sylvia. I’m thinking about Sylvia.”

“Should I be offended that you’re thinking about her?” Cynthia teased but she dropped the joke quickly. “What about Sylvia?”

“I am wondering what she is doing back in the palace. She’s supposed to be our ears in Tretogor but my gut is telling me not to trust her.”

Cynthia stayed quiet. Philippa seemed to trust her more and more every passing day and she had no intentions to lose her unique status by saying something she shouldn’t.

“Besides,” Philippa added, “I started to think bringing her back was a mistake. So far she had proved to be anything but useful.”

“Don’t say that, Philippa. She’s naïve.”

“Radovid doesn’t think so. He called for her, not you, remember?”

“Yes, precisely because she’s naïve. Sylvia won’t betray you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I am not afraid of anything, Cynthia. I am better in this game than anybody else in this godforsaken country.”

Cynthia had to bite her lip not to grin. “Yes, Philippa. So, you know there’s nothing to worry.”

“Being afraid and being worried are very different things. I worry, that’s how I survived that long. But…”

“But…?”

“It’s a good thing if Sylvia manages to gain Radovid’s trust while we’re away. Every single spy I sent at the boy has failed so far.”

“You think Sylvia would do that? Spy on the King I mean.”

“Not willingly, perhaps. But I wasn’t born yesterday. It is good enough for me if she gets a bit closer to the boy.”

“Do you think the King will be attracted to her?”

“Very much doubt it. Radovid may be young but he is one of few men I know that thinks with his brain, not his cock. I think he will simply attempt to make a deal with her.”

“How do you know?”

“He is too smart to believe in loyalty for the sake of loyalty. He will try to buy her off, one way or the other.”

“And you think Sylvia will accept that?”

“I don’t know that. But that’s where you come in, no, my darling?”

“Of course.” Cynthia smiled.

“Now…” Philippa stretched her arms. “You know I don’t take it lightly when somebody tries to play my own games against me.”

“I do.” Cynthia grinned. “Am I going to get punished?”

“Yes.” Philippa opened the birch wardrobe, taking out a short, leather whip. “Yes, you will.”

* * *

Without Cynthia, it was near impossible for Sylvia to choose herself a dress. If her fellow apprentice was there, she’d insist on dressing Sylvia in something fancy, knowing that it was dinner with King of Redania. Yet, looking at the large wardrobe, Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to do so. If nothing, she wasn’t sure of how to style a proper dinner gown.

In the end, she opted for a simple dress that fit her upper body tightly and had a loose skirt that reached her feet. The top of the dress was of dark green velvet with long sleeves and a crew neck that ended under her collar bone, revealing no cleavage. The skirt was black and made of wool and linen, which lacked the volume a proper dinner dress would have. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she thought it was elegant and if nothing, at least comfortable. When it was time to make her hair, however, she felt the need for Cynthia, who would often braid or at least shape Sylvia’s unruly curly strands. As much as the absence of Philippa was relaxing, the absence of Cynthia made Sylvia feel lonely.

A well-dressed servant came to escort the sorceress short after she had finished getting ready and through endless corridors and stairs, it took them over fifteen minutes to reach the dining room. There were numerous dining rooms and halls in the palace but Sylvia had never been to this one.

Two guards opened the birch door without establishing any eye contact and the servant who had accompanied her shoved the sorceress in. Unexpectedly, the light was dim inside, so Sylvia blinked her gold-colored eyes, standing dumbfounded for a moment. It was much smaller than she would ever expect. The square-shaped table was made of birch like most furniture in Redania and despite the intricate details featuring vine leaves on the corners, it was rather plain compared to other places the King would dine at. The chairs were also made of birch but had burgundy cushions on them that were velvet. The only window of the room covered the entire Northern wall, revealing a breathtaking view of Tretogor at nighttime. Similarly, burgundy and velvet curtains stood tied on the corners of the wall-window, and near each, stood a servant.

Awfully plain for a King.

The table was large enough to host 5 people, yet, it only had two chairs across each other, one of them was already occupied by the young King, who was wearing simple linen breeches and a black tunic on top that had gold-colored lace details. His brown hair was combed neatly, and a fur coat covered his back.

Then it hit Sylvia. Nobody else was invited to the dinner.

With that knowledge, Sylvia panicked. First, she looked at what the King was wearing. Regardless of the simplicity, everything he was wearing clearly was the best the continent could produce. The dress she was wearing was ordered by Philippa so surely had finesse, yet, she wondered if she was…

“Underdressed.” The King said the moment he saw Sylvia, completing the sentence on sorceress’ mind. But before Sylvia could react, he gave her a smile. A small one but Sylvia felt it was genuine. “I see you’re enjoying Eilhart’s absence. Please, take a seat.”

One of the servants pulled the chair for Sylvia and stayed quiet when she thanked him. The other one brought a silver plate, filled with a potage of different vegetables. That moment, Sylvia noticed the King had already started eating. The first servant appeared once again with a bottle of wine, filling Sylvia’s silver goblet. The sorceress was used to the palace by then but felt a bit overwhelmed nonetheless.

“I apologise if my outfit is inappropriate, Your Grace.”

“I could not care less. It is refreshing to see something simple for once. Though you should pray that I won’t report this to Eilhart.”

Hearing the threat, Sylvia stayed quiet and poked the vegetables in the bowl with her spoon.

“It’s… It’s a joke.” Radovid said and the sorceress looked at him with a confused look. He could be a smart man, but the humor was absolutely not his strong suit. “But never mind.”

An awkward silence followed, and Sylvia tried to distract herself by focusing on the food. It was delicious for sure but to her, it tasted like cement.

“I hear you’re cleaning the library, the section my father gave to Eilhart.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sylvia said after clearing her throat. “There are a lot of books and documents there that need to be cataloged and sorted. Madame Eilhart tasked me with that until her return.”

“Don’t remind me of her return.” Radovid rolled his eyes. Sylvia let herself chuckle. “Are there… any… interesting books there?”

Then it dawned to the sorceress. The King was trying to make small talk. Unlucky for him, Sylvia was almost as bad. “There are a lot of rare spell scrolls. Madame Eilhart also collected plenty of valuable research made by other sorcerers and sorceresses, some from historians and alchemists too.”

“I thought she had no time to read, knowing every waking moment of her is spent scheming.” Radovid murmured. Sylvia stayed quiet. It was uncomfortable.

Radovid raised his hand and waved it quickly. The servants left the room, rather in a hurry. Sylvia wondered why.

“I thought you’d be less silent today, Sorceress.” Radovid grinned a bit. “After you made me sleep under the roof of a peasant’s house.”

Sylvia bit her lip. “I should apologise properly for that, Your Grace. I-“

“You saved my life.” Radovid interrupted and his expression got more serious. “Eilhart may have punished you for that but I appreciated it.”

“She didn’t punish me for saving your life, she punished me for failing to stop the assassin and not contacting her afterward.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Sylvia almost coughed out the wine. “Why didn’t you contact Philippa then, Sylvia?”

“I would need a megascope. Any other spell I could use, the assassin could track the magical residue easily.”

“I see. Eilhart couldn’t predict that you’d opt for escaping. Or maybe she did but assumed that the assassin would track you better than he did in Oxenfurt.”

Her face went pale and Sylvia put the spoon down. Her stomach was in knots, not allowing her to eat anymore. “Your Grace… You are not saying that…”

“I am saying that there is a high chance the assassin was hired by Philippa Eilhart.” Radovid replied, with no disturbance or emotion in his voice. Unbothered, he kept eating.

“There’s… no way!” Sylvia replied, feeling her heart beat faster. Would Philippa go that far? She openly disliked the King but surely, she wouldn’t opt for regicide.

“Your surprise appears pretty genuine.” Radovid said, sipping his wine. Sylvia wondered how he could appear so calm and collected while suggesting something so morbid. “I am fairly decent at reading people and I sense that if such plot really occurred, you were left out. Just like you weren’t taken to Arcsea with Eilhart, like the other girl… What’s her name again?”

“Cynthia. Your Grace, Philippa surely wouldn’t…”

“Cynthia… Do you get along?”

Sylvia felt stressed with the interruptions. “Yes. She is my… closest friend. The only friend, really.”

“I see. I see.” Radovid smiled, breaking a piece from an excellent looking slice of baguette. “Philippa offers you a friend you can trust, so she can control you better. Know what you do, what you think. She did that to me when I was a kid. In fact, still does that every once in a while. Sends me a whore and thinks I’ll suddenly fall in love with the women and reveal everything in here.” He said, tapping on his head as he said _in here._

The tone of his voice got to Sylvia and the sorceress wondered just for a second if he was right. Radovid took advantage of that and kept pushing. “I heard many things about Eilhart’s sex life, about how she prefers younger women. Perhaps she is even fucking the other apprentice.”

“Your Grace!”

“What?”

Sylvia couldn’t respond.

Abruptly, Radovid stood up. “Follow me.”

Once again, Sylvia found herself following the King a few steps behind. This time she wasn’t handicapped by the murderous corsets but now, her thoughts and worries were heavier than anything she could carry. Would Philippa really go as far as to assassinate Radovid? Would Cynthia really pretend to be her friend to gain her trust and report to Philippa? And the thing about two of them sleeping… Okay, that much was ridiculous for sure.

The King knocked on the birch door and two guards outside opened the door. With quick steps, he walked through a few corridors that Sylvia hadn’t been before, then took a set of narrow stairs to the upper floor. It was much quieter there, though most habitants seemed to be guards.

Two of them stopped in front of one of the largest doors Sylvia had seen on the palace and two guards opened the doors for them. The King walked in and the sorceress followed, only to realize they were in Radovid’s bed chamber.

It was huge. The only room that was bigger in the palace was the throne room and the ballrooms. The bed that was placed diagonally at the corner was larger than two beds attached together and it was adorned with wooden columns that had curtains attached to them, which would allow him to cover the bed’s sides while he slept, though it didn’t look like he used it at all. Sylvia thought he was the kind of man who’d want to see outside the bed while he lied down.

What surprised her was that, the room was messy. The wide and tall desk near the large fireplace was covered with papers, scrolls, and books. In fact, there was a pile of books on the floor right next to the chair with intricate golden details. The burgundy-colored sofa was no different. Placed right across the fireplace, it was covered with clutter, including some ink that was dripping out of the inkwell. Middle of the room there was a gorgeous standing chessboard made of marble, though with only one chair nearby. The wall across the bed was covered with multiple bookshelves, all full, with some notebooks and handwritten notes dropped near the floor.

Unbothered, the King made his way near the large glass door and opened both wings to step on the balcony. As the sweet summer wind filled inside, Sylvia followed the King to the circular balcony, which wasn’t too large, being disconnected from rest of the palace. There was a wooden bench, a small table, and another chessboard, though this one small and made of wooden, placed on the bench.

The King closed the door behind them, and Sylvia noticed how isolated they were from the nearest human. She had the ‘funny’ idea that if the King pushed her down, nobody would hear. But that was silly. If the King wanted her death, he could just order it.

The view on the balcony was fantastic. From the height and the distance, the entirety of the capital was visible from the balcony. Individual lanterns shined bright, including the ones placed on the small gondolas on the river. Yet, it was distant enough that she couldn’t hear the loudness of the city.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Radovid said placing his hand on the marble railing. Sylvia followed suit and did the same, leaving a distance between them that was large enough to fit two people.

“It is.”

“I like spending some time here. Not in summer though. It is getting too warm for me.”

Sylvia stayed quiet. It didn’t take a genius to know that Radovid wasn’t looking to converse.

He turned to Sylvia and stared into the sorceress’ soul.

“A war is about to begin, Sylvia of Oxenfurt. A war that you cannot escape, regardless of how much you try. That’s palace life for you. Politics stick on you like a stain you can never get off. Your washerwoman mother would be disturbed.”

“I don’t want anything to do with-“

“It doesn’t matter!”

It was the first time Sylvia was hearing the King yell and she flinched. Until then, the young man had been authoritative enough that his quietness felt sufficiently dangerous. Seeing Sylvia flinch, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Eilhart does not care about you. You’re yet another pawn in one of her many sick games. I did my research. She only saved your life, so you’d lead her to Princess Cirilla or Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Tears reached to Sylvia’s eyes, ready to fall. But the sorceress stopped them perfectly. After all, she was raised in Aretuza and no one liked a crying sorceress. “But she saved my life regardless.” she responded with a soft voice, almost sounding like she was whispering.

Unexpectedly, the young man reached for her hand. His fingers were very cold, but Sylvia wasn’t sure if that was why a ray of electricity had traveled through her body upon the contact.

“I lived my entire life with Eilhart. She was there, every waking moment I had. She separated me from my mother, she treated me like I was an idiot, in front of people who are supposed to be my subjects! She ridiculed me, humiliated me, tricked me, and if, given the chance, she would have gotten rid of me a million times so far! But you know what, Sylvia of Oxenfurt, sorceress of Aretuza and apprentice of Philippa Eilhart? I, Radovid, King of Redania and fifth of my name, I will live! I will survive, if nothing, out of sheer sternness! I will live, only to devoid Eilhart of the pleasure of pissing on my corpse! This is a game of chess and every move counts. Every move is calculated. So, you’re already a part of this game, with or without your consent.”

She felt knots on her throat, unable to speak. What a troubled mind he had, she thought.

Looking at Sylvia’s face, the King didn’t let her hand go, instead, pulled her closer to the railing and with his other hand, showed her the city’s. “I own this city. I am the King of Redania. And I will no longer be silenced or ridiculed. I will build such a reputation, no one will dare treat me like Eilhart did. I will beat her at her own game. And you will help me with that.”

Finally, a sentence left her dry throat. “What do you want from me?”

“To speak up.”

“What?”

“To speak up! To tell me what you want. Everybody wants something. I am not here to expect you to be my ally for nothing. I’ll give you the world if you want, do you understand, Sorceress? Tell me your price. Do you want Aretuza to be yours? Riches? Your own castle? A mansion for your washerwoman mother? Name it!”

Sylvia stayed silent for a second, maintaining eye contact. The King’s brown eyes burned with passion and anger. Unlike him, Sylvia’s magically deformed gold-colored eyes were cold and emotionless, befitting a sorceress. She spent a few seconds collecting herself, then responded to the King with a calm, collected tone, as she was taught in Aretuza.

“I want you to let my hand go. You’re hurting it, Your Grace.”

Now, it was Radovid’s time to be dumbfounded by the reply. With a frustrated sigh, she let the Sorceress’s hand go. Sylvia felt relaxed once Radovid’s fingers left her skin. His touch was as cold as death.

“You choose Eilhart then?”

“No.”

“Then you have a wish from me?”

“No. A wise man once told me that if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I should not choose at all.”

“Whatever world that wise man lived in, no longer exists.” Radovid replied.

“Then we need to create one where not everything is conflict and pain.”

“To make peace, you need to make war first!”

“At all due respect, I don’t think you understand war. I know you believe you came very close to death, Your Grace. But not as much as I did. I was dead. I felt my heart stop. Philippa’s magic brought me back. I owe her my life.”

Radovid stayed quiet.

“But…” Sylvia inhaled. “I refuse to let her harm you.”

“Why? Don’t give me a shit answer about loyalty.”

“I won’t. I’m afraid I don’t have an answer. But I promise you, if destiny is ever placed on my small hands, I will play my cards in the way to prevent harm from coming to you.”

“And you will do the same for Eilhart?”

“I will.”

Radovid looked at the city and stayed quiet. Sylvia could see that he was calming down. The fire left his eyes and instead, there was his cunning, calculating self.

“You may leave.”

“Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Goodnight. Sorceress.”


	6. Unruly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri finds out that the Wild Hunt has found her trail. Radovid prepares to prove to the world who he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Explicit sexual content.
> 
> *This chapter uses concepts from TW3: The Wild Hunt.

Map helper for the chapter: [here](https://i.redd.it/k67cyrkbf8741.png)

The news of the rebellion reached the capital swiftly. In the North, it was unusual for a sovereign to rule without rebellions, meaning that the court was not surprised by the uprising. Most of the dissenters were South-Eastern peasants of Murivel who lived where Pontar River separated Redania from Temeria, and where Kestrel Mountains separated Redania from Kaedwen. It was quickly discovered that the peasants were led by a man named Klemens, who used to be the Baron of Baspert, a lumber-producing barony near Murivel. Radovid had taken away his titles after proven charges of corruption but upon the insistence of his advisors, he had let the man and his family live. 

A mistake he would never repeat. 

The initial reports showed that the numbers of the dissenters were nothing to worry about but it spread like wildfire. On the third day the rebels reached thousands and the so-called resistance spread to the nearby town of Piana. Radovid dismissed three of his royal advisors who had insisted that he’d wait for it to die out on its own and leave it to the local troops. 

“It’s not surprising that their numbers increased rapidly.” Radovid said to his advisors in the palace room specifically used for strategic meetings. His eyes were locked on the enormous map carved on the stone table. He had an expression that was calm and collected, yet his eyes had fire. 

“I don’t understand, Your Highness.” One of the advisors, the Lord of Crinfrid, objected. “Murivel is a small city, isolated among woods. Even if they had the means, which they didn’t, they don’t have the reason. That confuses me. Perhaps we should send in a royal envoy to investigate.” 

“Too slow.” The King disregarded, his fingers tapping on the table impatiently. 

“Then I’m afraid we must consider the idea that someone inside your court is working against you.” The Lord said with a dramatic voice, not failing to give a glance to his rival, Lord of Tridam. Radovid scuffed. Then he turned his head to the sorceress who was standing at the corner. 

Sylvia was neither qualified nor willing to join the war council. However, with court mage Philippa being absent, she had no choice but to represent her in the room. Until then the King had not looked at her once, so she had happily assumed that he was too busy to notice. 

The evening before, she had talked to Philippa via the megascope, and the court mage gave her strict instructions. She was to memorize everything that was talked in the room and report to Philippa as soon as possible. Her mistress also insisted that she wouldn’t participate, as Philippa feared that Sylvia would just embarrass her with her lack of strategic knowledge. That part upset Sylvia because she and Cynthia had spent many hours studying boring books of politics and history, on which Philippa had tested them ruthlessly. 

She was wearing a pair of brown, leather trousers that fit her body tightly and on top of it, a black chemise that reached just under her buttocks. A brown leather corset tightened the chemise around her waist and reached to the trousers, looking like it was attached to it. The outfit was completed with leather boots that had short heels and reached above her knees, as well as a thick, wool cape that featured the royal colours of Redania; red and white. 

“Any other time I would tell you to make yourself appear as charming as possible.” Philippa had told her through the megascope the night before. “But war rooms are different. You will be the only woman there and they will ridicule you for it. They will assume you don’t know anything about the world or how to run it. But that’s as false as it gets. Sorceresses have been the power behind thrones for longer than those idiotic men can imagine. In short, we must know their weaknesses and how to take advantage of them. That’s what they try to teach you in Aretuza, though only a handful of you seem to pick it up. So tomorrow at the council, do not wear a dress. Do not adorn yourself with jewellery or anything that may remind them of the unfortunate women they left behind at home, who are nothing more than breeding machines to them.” 

Sylvia listened that well. 

When Radovid looked at her, she wanted to move her eyes, but Philippa’s words echoed inside her mind. She raised her head up and maintained eye contact with the King, even though her rapid heartbeats were providing a type of anxiousness that made her wish she was in another dimension. 

“Sylvia.” 

He was using her name. 

“Yes, Your Grace?.” 

“Come and look at this map. Perhaps you can tell my honorable Lord here that he is overseeing a detail that is painfully obvious.” 

“Your Grace.” The Lord turned to the King with wide-open eyes, fighting himself not to raise his voice. “She’s a woman.” 

“I’m glad you noticed, my Lord.” 

A couple of advisors laughed and the Lord blushed. Sylvia bit inside her cheeks to not laugh. 

“She is clearly unqualified to be here. We should wait for Lady Eilhart or proceed without other external influences.” 

“I represent Lady Eilhart, my Lord.” Sylvia said with a determined voice, hoping that her heartbeats weren’t visible. It had taken her all to say that and protect her standing in the room. Would Philippa be proud? 

“I don’t care who represents what, I just want results.” Radovid rolled his eyes. “Sylvia, proceed.” 

The sorceress approached the table. Looking at the map and coming up with a reply that wouldn’t embarrass her mistress was much easier of a task compared to conversing and arguing with others in the room. Besides, she was used to being interrogated on knowledge like that from Philippa’s training, though it didn’t help that 14 men were staring at her. 

Thankfully, just like the King had said, the solution was painfully obvious. “They are being funded by Kaedwen.” Sylvia replied, her golden eyes locked on the carved map. 

The Lord laughed as if he had heard the most ridiculous thing. “How so, young lady?” 

Sylvia ignored his derogatory tone. She placed her finger on the Kaedweni city of Hagge, then traced her finger from the city through the Pontar river, reaching Murivel. “I would assume that the ex-Baron made a deal with Kaedwen. King Henselt could provide arms and strategic minds to start a rebellion in Murivel. The Baron would regain power and I’m guessing in return he would willingly swear fealty to King Henselt. It can only be good for Kaedwen to have a foot in West of Kestrel. Would give them a proper land border with Temeria as well.” 

Radovid smirked, his eyes still locked on the map. 

“Your Grace!” the Lord objected again. “That’s just stretching whatever information we have. We should send in a royal envoy to investigate or worst case, intervene with the Rinde battalion. I’ll lead it myself if you wish.” 

“Too slow, too late, and too little.” Radovid said with a calm and cold voice. Sylvia was learning that one needed to fear the King when he appeared calm. Though this time, he was more buried under his own thoughts. 

He raised his head up and looked at the room with a playful look in his eyes, almost like he was enjoying this life-sized chess. “I want the entire Eastern army marching to Piana by dawn.” 

People actually gasped. One of the older Lords even chuckled in confusion. The scribe who was taking notes raised his head up to confirm he had heard correctly. 

This time Andries of Troy, the King’s cousin objected. “Cousin, that is surely not necessary. It is costly to move armies of that size.” 

“I know how much it costs to move my own men.” 

“Do you though?” Andries objected again. Sylvia thought that it was Philippa who started the tradition of openly defying the King like that. 

Radovid stood up abruptly. Sylvia squeezed her own arm under the cape to prevent herself from taking a step back. “I calculated the costs all night yesterday. It is perfectly affordable, given that we allocate our treasury better. The time for a financial overhaul in Redania is overdue and it will be the first item on the list once the rebellion is crushed completely.” 

Andries took it personally. “If it was that easy, we would have done it during your regency…” Seeing Radovid’s hidden fury, however, he added, “… Your Grace.” 

“No. it _is_ that easy, Lord Andries. You would have done so yourself in Troy if you haven’t allocated so much coin into whores and siring bastards.” 

Andries’ mouth opened widely and did not close. One of the elderly Lords laughed loudly, then coughed. After a few gasps, there was a silence of death in the room. The King’s cousin stood in the middle of the room, blushing like a little child. Sylvia looked down, feeling disturbed by the exuding embarrassment from the man. 

After that, Radovid started to walk towards the door, signaling that the meeting had ended. A few of the lords bowed but Sylvia failed to join that group out of sheer shock. 

Right before the King would leave, one of the known generals had the guts to speak up. 

“Your Grace?” 

The King stopped and turned around, with a clearly bored look inside his eyes. 

“Yes?” 

“Forgive me for interrupting but… Who will lead the army?” 

“What kind of a question is that?” Radovid grinned. “I will, of course.” 

* * *

The small boat was starting to fill with water but Ciri chose to ignore it. Her boots were already ruined with the mud and it was obvious that everything she was wearing would require an extensive wash. It had rained all evening the day before and now the small island and the surrounding marsh were suffering from the aftermath. The small pieces of flatland she had walked on earlier were now sunk deep under the murky brown water. 

She kept rowing, slowly but consistently. Her senses were fully awakened, and she had forced upon herself a calmness that resulted in alertness. Her ears were ready to pick up any noise and her eyes were open wide. If nothing, one thing life had taught her was that, one could never be too aware of her surroundings. 

She rowed past the large plants that were tall enough to stick out of the floodwater and arrived to the makeshift dock that was so small, she didn’t think a second boat could be tied to it. Her first day on the island, she had questioned the existence of a dock so far from the water but now she understood. 

The cabin near the dock was tiny and the wooden exterior looked like it had seen better days, a long time ago. It stood above a platform that had similarly appalled Ciri but now that the platform was fully submerged, she understood why. 

After tying the boat to the dock, she picked up a large sack from the boat and put it on her shoulder. It was heavy so she groaned until she opened the wooden door of the cabin, then dropped the sack on the ground. It had made a loud thump but that didn’t wake up the only habitant of the cabin. 

She took off the sheath of her sword and set it against the wall, making sure she was as quiet as possible. After that, she started to undress. First, her fur jacket fell on the cold ground, then her boots, leather breeches, shirt, and undergarments. Once she was naked, she walked across the cabin on her tiptoes to avoid the cold floor. 

She lifted the blanket as quiet as a ghost, but it was enough to wake the man up nonetheless. He wrapped his big arms around Ciri and pulled her towards his naked body. Ciri welcomed the warmth but didn’t share the sentiment in the man’s pleased sigh. 

“Angel. You are back!” 

“Once again, not an angel.” Ciri replied but the sheepish smile on the man’s face signaled that he wouldn’t listen. Ever since she had found herself in the godforsaken swamp planet this man lived in, he had been convinced that she was an angel, sent by a God. At first, Ciri tried to fight him on that but now she was giving up. Given that she had quite literally fallen from the sky near where the man had a small garden of vegetables, she might as well be an angel for him. 

The man quickly climbed on top of Ciri and pressed his lips on her neck. Ciri’s mind wasn’t quite in the moment but she didn’t mind. When he started to devour her neck and slide down to her breasts, she didn’t make a noise. 

“What’s... what’s in there?” he abruptly stopped, pointing the heavy sack Ciri had dropped near the door. The ashen-haired young woman questioned for a second if she could explain to him what it was but then decided that the entire thing would be a bit too challenging for his intelligence. 

“Go look for yourself.” 

The man got up from the bed and walked towards the sack with quick but careful steps. Ciri’s sleepy eyes wandered over him as the naked man poked the sack. He was slightly over two meters in height and his toned, muscular body was heavy enough to squeak the wooden planks underneath him. Without feeling any shame, she moved her eyes towards his manhood, which was semi-erect from the short time they’d laid together. Ciri couldn’t help but grin. His manhood was not any longer than what she’d seen in her home-dimension but it was significantly thicker, which was one of the unexpected reasons as to why she’d stayed in that dimension longer than planned. Unfortunately, though, her inquisitive nature was now noting that what this man’s species boosted in the constitution, they lacked in intelligence. 

Once the thing inside the sack was out, the man gasped and lunged sideways, away from the dead creature. Ciri didn’t react. The small, wolf-like creature in the sack was long-dead, which she’d made sure with her own blade. 

“What is that!?” 

“It’s a Wild Hunt hound.” Ciri replied, trying not to yawn. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“I guessed that much.” 

“I’ve never seen such a thing before.” 

“You are not supposed to anyway.” Ciri responded, pulling herself a little bit up on the bed to sit properly. As the blanket fell down and stop covering her breasts, she knew he wasn’t going to let her sleep. “It’s from a different... land. Too far. You could never go there.” 

“Why is it here then?” 

“It was here for me.” Ciri scoffed. As much as she wanted to not think about it, the man’s question was valid. She hadn’t expected the Hunt to find her trail so fast. Clearly, she’d been using her powers way too often. But was it really her fault that no dimension made her feel good? 

“Are you in danger, angel?” 

Ciri smiled. “It’s dead, isn’t it?” 

“That’s true.” 

“Then there’s nothing to worry.” 

“If you say so. I believe you. You are the smartest woman I have ever seen.” 

“Well, you should meet my mother then.” Ciri chuckled. “Then you’d learn that intelligence is also danger.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing.” the ashen haired girl smiled again. “But enough with that, don’t you think? Please put it back in the sack and come back to bed.” 

That was more than enough to convince the man. He quickly placed the dead hound back in the sack and made sure to give it a firm kick. After that, he climbed on top of Ciri with the excitement of a child on his name day. 

Deciding that the issue with Wild Hunt would be later’s problem, Ciri left herself to the man. Besides, she wanted to focus on him and that body of his that had satisfied her like nothing ever did before. She wanted to savor it. After all, she knew she’d be gone from that dimension before he would wake up the next day. 

* * *

The journey on horseback was uncomfortable at best. Sylvia had never been a good rider and now she had to ride among men who had spent their entire lives on horseback. The sorceress feared being seen as a weak woman, though the giggles behind her signaled that it was perhaps too late. The palace and the army feared Philippa Eilhart, not her apprentice. 

Regardless, she was determined to do her best and thankfully her mare was cooperating. The traditional Redanian [battlemage armor](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/86/e3/13/86e3132240ed97fa4f0ea5746db7efcb.jpg%C2%A0) that combined leather breeches and a dress-like, also leather chest armor gave her confidence too. Knowing that the piece was designed by Philippa specifically for her and Cynthia, Sylvia wasn’t surprised. 

After the war council, Sylvia had reported to Philippa, who then demanded to speak to the King through the megascope. Unlike Sylvia’s expectation, the King complied, letting Philippa give him a long speech about how he wasn’t ready for such a task and how urgent it was for her to return to the capital. Radovid listened patiently, ignoring that a few nobles who were accompanying him were already starting to gossip. Instead, the King replied with a long, empty speech of his own, citing how important it was for Philippa to be protecting the Queen Mother during the dangerous times. When Philippa highlighted that the King needed a battlemage to protect him on the battlefield, Radovid discarded that, saying the apprentice she’d left behind could do the job. He didn’t respond to her objections regarding how inexperienced Sylvia was. 

Thus, the curly-haired young sorceress found herself riding with the Redanian army, to battle. 

They left the palace at dawn and rode to barracks outside the city skirts. Since then, they had passed multiple small towns but they didn’t stop. Instead, everywhere they passed, more soldiers joined the march. Sylvia rode in front of all of them, some rows behind the King. 

“My lady?” 

“Jan!” Sylvia tried to hide her joy seeing the young royal guard. There was something soothing in stumbling upon someone she knew on a day everything was foreign to her. 

The young blonde man with baby blue eyes smiled innocently, causing Sylvia to once again wonder how he’d gotten his job. The guard must have thought of the same thing because he forced a straight expression upon himself, though his eyes kept glowing. “Do you require help with the horse?” 

“I thought I was doing alright.” 

“You are. But the King has asked his escorts to ride faster. His Grace wishes the court to arrive Rinde before sundown. The army itself will catch up later.” 

“That’s strange.” 

Jan didn’t reply. His job was not judging the King. Sylvia didn’t expect a response. 

“What does that have to do with my horse though?” 

“She looks exhausted, my lady. You should change your steed with one of the faster ones.” 

That morning, she had chosen the horse because of its beautiful color. Now she felt guilty. 

“Is it that obvious that I know nothing about horses?” 

Jan smiled shyly. “I’m sure nobody is paying attention to that, my lady. I would be more than happy to prepare you a more suitable ride.” 

“Thank you, Jan. What would I do without you?” 

The guard smiled and this time, kept the expression. 

* * *

The court arrived to the river town of Rinde a bit after sundown. Regardless of how much she tried, Sylvia had ended up falling backwards among the riders. Now that she was far from Radovid, she could hear disgruntled gossiping among courtiers, complaining about the fact that the King had made them march normally with the army until noon and then had abruptly changed his mind to make the court gallop to the city without any breaks. Most already believed the young man was _eccentric_ and now, a few even dared to call the decision lunacy. 

Once they arrived at the city however, it made sense to a certain level. The royal flagship had sailed to Rinde from Oxenfurt, along with a few more ships. It seemed like the King wanted to sail to Murivel and arrive at the site of rebellion before his army did. Another confusing decision. 

Once the court arrived at the port, the King simply told one of his squires to make sure everyone dismounted. Radovid not even bothering to yell orders caused even more annoyance but Sylvia didn’t mind. Her legs and ass felt numb and she wasn’t even sure if she could get off on her own. 

For a few seconds, she watched Radovid approach the flagship with an energy she didn’t understand how he could have, then he started to give out orders to sailors. 

“My lady, would you like some help?” 

“Oh, Jan.” Sylvia felt relieved. “I would love that. Otherwise, I will have to throw myself down this horse.” 

The guard gave her a short-lived smile. “Please gently slide down towards me.” 

“What!? Are you sure?” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“How sure?” 

“Completely. Please do not worry. I know this is a very large horse but he is the kindest among them all. That’s why I brought him to you.” 

Sylvia smiled a little bit. Among all the madness, she could always rely on the guard. So, as he asked, she slowly leaned down towards the young man, and realizing that neither he nor the horse had budged, she completely let her weight down, immediately falling. 

Jan caught the sorceress in air. As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders with panic and fear, he wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies sticking to each other for a moment. When her light brown hair brushed his blonde one, the guard blushed and froze. So Sylvia stayed in his arms for a moment, her feet still not touching the ground. 

Thankfully Jan came back to earth relatively quick and put the sorceress down rather hastily, clearly embarrassed. Then he looked down and walked towards the horse, keeping himself busy with the saddle even though it required no work. 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s... nothing... my lady. I... I need to take you to the flagship; you are expected to stay in Madame Eilhart’s quarters.” 

“Oh?” 

“I was told so. Would you like me to accompany you?” 

Sylvia looked at the man, who was still red with embarrassment. “I think I’ll find my way there by myself, Jan. Thank you though.” 

The guard nodded and immediately relaxed. 

* * *

“How did it go?” 

“Waste of my time.” the elf replied, taking his helmet off. The air in the swamp was humid enough that the sweat droplets inside the metal headgear had started to make his skin feel like it was burning. It had been less than an hour since the Wayfinder mages had brought the small hunting party to the miserable dimension but Eredin couldn’t wait to leave. 

“The man knew nothing about Zirael?” Imlerith insisted. 

“No.” The King of Wild Hunt tried to stay patient. “He didn’t even know who she was. Kept calling her angel. Apparently, she was in his bed but left last night, before he woke up.” 

Imlerith looked at the corpse of the man that Eredin had just interrogated and grimaced. “Disgusting.” 

“It is. Zirael needs to be disciplined, among many other things.” 

Imlerith nodded. “Shall I tell the mages to prepare a portal?” 

Eredin didn’t respond. 

“My Lord? Are you all right?” 

“Damn it!” Eredin yelled and kicked the wooden door of the shack with his metal boots. The door immediately crumbled and pieces of wood fell on the man’s corpse. “So close I almost had her!” 

“And you will.” Imlerith put his hand on Eredin’s shoulder. “She is a cornered rat.” 

The King of the Wild Hunt exhaled, then stretched his back, causing plenty of bones to crack. “Tell the mages to get ready.” 

“Where to?” 

“Tir ná Lia.” 

* * *

Once she was on the ship, Sylvia almost collapsed on the bed. Philippa’s room was extraordinarily luxurious with plenty of furniture and countless books but she lacked the energy to peruse. Instead, she undressed with great difficulty and put on a cotton nightgown that was black with thin straps and reached just under her knees. After that, she did not even bother to get inside the bed. She collapsed on it and she was asleep before the ship had set sail. 

Thus, when she woke up to stubborn knocking on her door, she woke up with a gasp. It took her another minute to remember where she was and even more to notice what was going on. In the end, she threw herself away from the bed and waddled towards the door on her bare feet. Once she opened the door, she realized from Jan’s face how un-ladylike she looked. 

“My lady, I’m so sorry to wake you up.” the guard said, turning his face away from her to give her some privacy. 

“What’s... what’s going on?” Sylvia asked, the need for sleep obvious from her voice. 

“The King...” Jan exhaled as if he was trying to choose the correct words. “He requested your presence?” 

“What? For when?” It had to be three in the morning, if not even later. 

“Immediately.” Jan bit his own lips. “His Grace ordered me to accompany you to...” 

“To?” 

“His bed chamber.” 

The shock suddenly woke Sylvia. “What?” 

Jan stayed quiet. 

“Okay. Okay...” Sylvia tried to calm herself down. “I’ll... I’ll get ready. Shouldn’t take me long.” 

Jan bit his lip once again. “I am sorry my lady but... I am instructed to ‘not let you lose time with appearances or other formalities,’ verbatim.” 

Fear suddenly hit Sylvia. No King would summon someone in the middle of the night in their sleeping attire for something good. Instead, a great many people had lost their heads in that exact manner. 

The worst part was that, from Jan’s face, she could see easily that he had the same ideas about what was happening. 


	7. Secrets Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dandelion finds himself on an adventure he certainly does not wish to participate in. In Redania, Lara Dorren's legacy makes an appearance in the royal chamber.

The crowd that night did not disappoint. Most of them were well dressed, which meant that in addition to what the innkeeper was paying, the audience would tip as well. Moreover, as if that wasn’t enough, there were plenty of fine-looking young women, who giggled and blushed as the bard performed. Overall, this was more than a performer could ask for during times of such hardship. Yet, for Dandelion, there was always room for improvement and something else that could be given to him. 

_“_ _He wiped out your pest_   
_Got kicked in his chest_   
_He's_ _a friend of humanity_   
_So, give him the rest”_

He knew that the crowds were a sucker for that verse. As his fingers moved on the lute like caressing a woman’s back, his silky voice proved to the audience that he deserved every praise they could give him. A few young maidens in the back fanned themselves and even the rowdy band of dwarves seemed impressed.

“ _That's my epic tale_   
_Our champion prevailed_   
_Defeated the villain_   
_Now pour him some ale!_ ”

Even those who had never seen him perform before knew the lyrics of the next part. He could see on their faces that they were getting ready to sing along. A grin appeared on Dandelion’s face and he took a few steps forward to be closer to his audience, which  hyped them up even more.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher   
O Valley of Plenty!   
O Valley of Plenty!   
Toss a coin to your Witcher...”

As the last verse approached, the crowd was now yelling on top of their lungs, with excited looks on their faces. Dandelion knew that most of them would  grimace at the idea of a mutant, yet they did not shy away from praising one in their songs.

_ “A friend of humanity... humanity!” _

The applause that followed was thunderous. The acoustic of the inn being horrendous, Dandelion found himself feeling a ringing on his right ear so he placed his palm on it as he bowed to the crowd  numerous times.  After all, one could never get over the euphoria of being adored.

He stepped down from the small, makeshift stage, only to found himself surrounded by the fans. While wealthier nobles stayed back to wait for him to come to them (which he would for sure), daughters of artisans and merchants practically threw themselves on him. However, Dandelion had already chosen his target for the night: The redheaded beauty near the window who  hadn’t seen 20 winters yet. He could easily tell that her dress was imported from the South, which meant that she had access to wealth, one way or the other. Moreover, the moment their eyes connected across the  room; he knew she  wouldn’t go back to her house that night.

“Ladies, ladies, please. Give me a moment.” he said with a chuckle, trying to distance himself from the fans while maintaining eye contact with the mysterious redhead. 

“Master Dandelion, you must join us at our table and tell your stories, I insist!”

Now, it was the oldest trick in the book, showing interest in other women to make the main interest of the night anxious. Dandelion thought it would not be a bad idea at all. 

“Fine, fine. How can I say no to you amazing ladies?” he said, causing them to giggle. “Just give me some time to refreshen, okay? I will be right back.”

After the women released him, he quickly climbed the stairs to the upper floor, where the  innkeeper had given him a room for the night. He had gone there earlier to get settled  and in reality, he couldn’t wait to be back. With the large bed and the beautiful, potent fireplace, it was sure to be a good night’s sleep.

When he opened the door, however, what he saw ensured that sleep would be far away. A woman was sitting on the chair near the fireplace, her back turned to the door. Her dress had short sleeves, which revealed thin arms and marble white skin. Her dark hair was divided into two braids that lazily hung around her shoulders.

Dandelion stepped inside and a wide grin appeared on his face. It  wasn’t the first time a girl had sneaked inside his room but it made his day every time.  Perhaps the redhead downstairs could wait a little bit. Or  perhaps she would get impatient and join them in the room. Either case, Novigrad surely knew how to treat a continent-famous bard. 

“My my, I wasn’t expecting to have such a lovely visitor,” Dandelion kept grinning as he undid his belt. “But I must say, it is always a pleasure to be surprised like that. Especially when the- OH FOR THE LOVE OF- FUCK ME!”

The moment the woman on the chair turned towards him, the bard lunged backward with pure shock and panic. “The hell are you doing here!?” 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de  Lettenhove ” Philippa  Eilhart stood up from the chair she was sitting on and took few steps towards the bard, slowly.

Dandelion decided that he had seen enough so turned around to leave the room before he’d found himself deeper in trouble. But the moment he attempted to do so, the second woman, who was hiding behind the door stepped forward, and closed the door before he could reach it.

Dandelion gasped. “And who the hell are  _ you _ !?”

“Cynthia. Madame  Eilhart’s apprentice, pleasure to meet you.” Cynthia gave him a menacing grin. 

“Are you so adamant about getting away from me?” Philippa asked with a fake worry in her voice. “One would think you ought to have more love for your old employer. Sit down.”

“That was a long time ago, Philippa. And no thank you, I am  actually expected downstairs so  I’ll be taking my lea-OUCH” His words were interrupted by Cynthia, who placed her palms on the bard’s shoulders and dug her nails deep on his skin as she pushed him down on the nearest chair. Once he was seated, the  sorceress did not pull her hand back and instead, kept her body  very close to his to prevent any sudden movement. For the first time in his life, Dandelion felt uneasy about having breasts pressed on the back of his head.

“I hear you’re still singing about the dead.” Philippa started to pace in the room, her eyes wandering over the décor.

“Not just any dead. Geralt was not only an honorable man but he was my friend!” The bard would get more aggressive defending the Witcher but Cynthia’s nails dug deeper to shut him down.

“Honor, yes. Quite important for sure, the poor man’s pride. Though  you’re also singing about the dead you did not  necessarily like, aren’t you, Julian? How did the song go, Cynthia?”

“ _ You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent, berries tart, lilac sweet _ . I don’t remember the rest, unfortunately,” the younger sorceress replied, saying the verses out loud like a poem and not singing it.

“It’s meant to be sung, not read like a poem.” Dandelion grunted but Cynthia poked him again. “And could you kindly stop piercing my flesh like that?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Stop whining like children and listen!” Philippa raised her voice, visibly losing her patience with the bard. “I did not come here to discuss your love for the arts!”

“Good point, why  _ did _ you come here?” Dandelion replied. “Actually, you know what, it is completely your business. I appreciate you stopping by to check on me but as you can see, I’m doing well and mourning internally so I must go and join the-”

The moment he raised his ass from the chair, Cynthia pushed him back down with a strength he  wasn’t sure how she had. The bard grunted again and looked at Philippa with a defeated and terrified look. “Fine, fine. What do you want?”

“Your wellbeing and happiness. What could it possibly be, Julian?”

“I do not spy for anyone, anymore, Philippa.  Let’s get that straight.”

“I am not just  _ anybody _ though, am I?”

“No, of course not, the jewel at the court in  Tretogor ” Dandelion said mockingly. Cynthia then placed her arm underneath the bard’s chin and pressed on his throat. 

“No, no, not my vocal cords. Not the vocal cords! Fuck’s sake Philippa, I’ve never thought I’d say this but I cannot wait to get away from the tits of this monster you brought here!”

“Shut the hell up and focus!” Philippa yelled but then exhaled and rubbed her forehead to calm down. Once she did, she spoke with a quieter but equally firm voice. “It’s not spy work. Call it research if  you’d like. I need information.”

“Information? On what?”

“The Academy”

“The Academy of what?”

Philippa’s voice rose again. “The Academy of Winemaking in Beauclair! What do you think?”

“First of all, that’s not a real thing.”

“It was back in the day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’d forgotten that you’re as old as the continent!” Dandelion yelled back, which caused Cynthia to choke him enough to leave him breathless. “I can break his neck if you’d like, Mistress.”

“Give him a bit more time to get his shit together.” Philippa replied. “Will you behave now, bard?”

Dandelion nodded.

“Good. Let him breathe, Cynthia.”

The bard inhaled with exaggeration and let his head flop dramatically. Once he felt better, he finished his sentence. “Second of all, assuming that you mean the Academy of  Oxenfurt , I cannot possibly fathom what could interest you.”

“That’s not your business. I need you to get back there and fraternize with your old colleagues. Learn what their stance is on the King.”

“Aha!” Dandelion grinned. “So  that’s it, power play! I knew Philippa Eilhard, the  sorceress of  Tretogor wouldn’t show interest in our humble sanctuary of intellect  out of the blue !”

Philippa inhaled and exhaled once again, trying to remain calm. “Listen to me, bard. It is nothing you need to allocate your already-limited cognitive abilities on. I simply need you to learn what does the Academy think of the King. Especially of his new policies about security and intelligence. Other than that, our old procedures still stand, follow them, and don’t make a mess out of this. I’ll make sure you get compensated generously.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“I don’t think you understand, Julian. This was never an offer, nor a deal. Someone who works for me, an elf, will meet you here in this room tomorrow night. Fail to show up or follow his instructions, and I’ll make sure your head and your body leave this city via different gates. Are we clear?”

Dandelion gulped. “Yes.”

“Good. Cynthia?”

The younger  sorceress pulled her arm from the bard’s neck and smiled widely at him innocently as she took a few seconds to shuffle his hair. Then she stepped away, extended her  arms, and mumbled an  incantation to open a portal.

“Until next time, Julian.” Philippa said  dryly before stepping into the portal and disappearing. Cynthia smiled at the bard once again  and also disappeared in the portal, right after tossing a single coin on the bard.

Dandelion sat there covered in his own sweat for a while. It was obvious that there was no going back downstairs for him that night. 

* * *

The royal chamber in the flagship was not particularly different than its counterpart in the palace. The first thing Sylvia noticed was the lack of fire inside the room and the open windows, which explained the draft that chilled her bones. Yet, the King  seemed to be unbothered . He was wearing black cotton breeches, a silk shirt, and a black velvet vest on top. The  sorceress imagined he  couldn’t be too warm with all that. 

He was sitting on a red sofa across a large coffee table, on which were placed two chess sets with pieces all over, documents, and maps. Behind him, there was a large bed covered with luxurious sheets, as well as bookshelves and a desk that was cluttered beyond salvation. The corner of the room had a door opening to the deck which served as a balcony, and near that, there was a small dressing room created by oak dividers. 

His face was in such a firm  scowl , Sylvia wondered if his muscles hurt. Standing near the door where  Radovid’s guards let her in, she was freezing because of the draft and more importantly, because she was wearing her nightdress and the silk kimono. The  cold air traveled among her messy curls and the light from  Radovid’s candle lighted up her pale, tired face.

As she stood there, the King kept staring at the map and the chessboard, his hand anxiously tapping on the oak furniture. Afraid of what was awaiting her, Sylvia hesitated to make a noise. Instead, she shifted on her feet a little bit, hoping to get the King’s attention that way. She failed.  Radovid reacted only when after five minutes the draft moved Slyvia’s dress, causing the silk of the kimono to make a noise.

“Ah, Sylvia. You’re finally here.”

The lack of sleep in his voice alerted the sorceress.  Clearly, he hadn’t gone to sleep yet, even though it was at least three hours past midnight. Moreover, she was also surprised by the excitement in his tone. In all honesty, it was all too cheerful for somebody who was about to execute or imprison her, though she’d learned to expect the unexpected from the King. 

“You’ve asked for me, Your Majesty?” she asked, sleep and panic exuding from her voice. 

“Yes. Though I was hoping  you’d show up faster. Anyway, you are here now. And I am glad you kept your hair...” he moved his hand around in a circle, pointing the sorceress’s hair, “...that way.”

Sylvia felt her cheeks get red with embarrassment. While  she’d never been an example of manners, both her education in  Aretuza and  Tretegor had punished her  fairly often for breaking those rules. If nothing, subconsciously she wanted to blend in by exercising proper etiquette. 

“I apologise, Your Majesty. The guard showed up at my room while I was  sle -… while I was indisposed and I did not have the time to...”

“I don’t care, sorceress.” The King interrupted her. “What I meant was that, now I can see how curly your hair is. Which is precisely why you’re here.”

Sylvia was baffled. “I... beg your pardon? I’m... here because of my hair?”

“Yes. I mean, no.”  Radovid replied, reaching to the corner of the coffee table to pull a notebook, which caused others to fall on the floor. The sorceress noted the spark in his eyes. For some reason, it reminded her of an excited child. In fact, the entire chamber felt like it didn’t belong to a King, with clutter covering all over it. It was almost funny seeing the contrast of otherworldly luxury and evidence of a messy mind coexist together.

“Then I’m afraid I’m not following you.” she replied, knowing that she was not following proper etiquette with her phrasing but she was too tired for that.

“I know you don’t. Listen, our little excursion in the outskirts of  Oxenfurt made me notice something. And your mother is the reason for that.”

Now she was visibly uncomfortable. “My... mother?”

“Yes, your mother. Don’t get all disturbed on me, sorceress. Your mother, what colour was her hair, before it went all grey?”

“Same as mine.”

“Sure, sure. But...” he grinned with an excited manner, tapping his fingers on a piece of paper that  seemed to be full of handwriting. “But it is straight, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Now,  let’s switch to your father. You said  you’ve never met him. Did your mother or any of the villagers tell you about his physical appearance, mainly his hair?”

“Your Majesty...” Sylvia was losing her patience, being too tired, both emotionally and physically.

“Just answer me.”

“No!” Sylvia raised her voice but  Radovid did not  flinch . “He wasn’t married to my mother and he was from a nearby village. He moved to ours to be an apprentice to the blacksmith and left the village the night my mother told her she was pregnant. Nobody ever saw him or heard of him ever again. I do not know what he looked like either. Why are you asking me these? Did you bring me here for this? I thought you would be executing me, after being woken up by a panicked guard and being dragged here in my  nightgown .” she told him, her voice cracking as the wind hit her.

Radovid gave her a rather innocent look, almost like he hadn’t thought of any of the problems she had listed as she poured her heart. As much as she had gotten emotional, he seemed unbothered and calm, except for the curious look in his eyes.

“I would have let you get dressed if I were to execute you, Sylvia.” he said, with a soft voice. “Death should have some dignity. I called you here at this hour because  _ I _ am awake and because I require your presence. But from now and on, you have my word. If I’m to ever execute you, I will notify you sufficiently in advance so you don’t need to come to my chambers in fear. Now please, sit. We have much to cover.”

The apology was worse than the crime. Shaken, confused, but also strangely relaxed, Sylvia dragged her body toward where the King pointed and let herself fall on the armchair near the sofa the King was sitting on. Radovid’s eyes moved back to the documents, completely ignoring the previous conversation.

“Not knowing about your father, unfortunately, makes you a poor survey participant but I have already collected enough information. Many books write about this but I wanted to learn for myself, to confirm my suspicions. So, two people with curly hair can have children with straight hair. However, vice versa is not possible. Moreover, one straight-haired grandparent in a family of curly hairs can produce a grandchild with straight hair, even some generations later. Had to dig up some family portraits of nobles for that.”

So...  genealogy ? Was that why the King had urgently summoned her? Feeling that she was confused beyond the point of salvation, she remained quiet.  Radovid continued:

“The deduction from this is that, a trait can be carried down generations before showing itself. All the members of a bloodline carry the trait, hidden in them. And when they reproduce with a spouse that also has that trait, they produce a child who will exhibit that trait, unlike his or her ancestors, who carried it without showing signs. Are you following?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It’s the reason why incest is frowned upon. It brings together potential parents who carry similar hidden traits, possibly diseases or curses.”

“Tell that our neighbours in South.”  Radovid chuckled, thinking about King  Foltest of Tameria, famed for his affair with his sister. “Anyway. The point is, if you carefully follow one’s lineage, you can selectively breed humans like we do for dogs, and cause the desired trait to appear again, after a long period of visual-absence.”

“I suppose that’s correct.”

“It is. Tell me, Sylvia, how long a sorcerer lives?”

Every time he said her name, a shudder traveled through her body, leaving goosebumps all over her skin. “Nobody quite knows, Your Majesty. Hundreds of years, if nothing else kills him or her. Magic can not only stop aging but also reverse the effects of it. Sort of a fountain of youth, that comes from what is inside us.”

“Right. So, a sorcerer can observe  firsthand how generations of a bloodline advance.”

“I guess so.”

“I know so.  Eilhart served my grandfather. And my great grandfather. If nothing, she’s seen my bloodline advance.”

Sylvia remained quiet.

“And that’s why, I believe she has been involved in this... human breeding thing.”

“With... you?”

“No. My bloodline has no unique traits. Regardless of what stupid royal historians claim to impress the rabble. But another royal bloodline does, here in the North.”

With the realization, Sylvia’s eyes opened widely. “You’re talking about Cirilla!”

“Precisely.”  Radovid smiled, victoriously. “Her family tree is near impossible to compile but from what I’ve been collecting in the last few months, the royal family of Cintra comes from the legendary elf, Lara Dorren. The first carrier of the Elder Blood.”

It horrified Sylvia how much  Radovid had deduced on his own. Ciri’s heritage was not a secret but the mythical properties of her blood had been a well-guarded information among those who could comprehend the unbelievable power of the  _ Lady of Time and Space _ , as Yennefer called her. 

“There are counts of her great-great-grandmother possessing powers of telekinesis without formal sorcerer training. It seems to have skipped her grandmother, the Lioness of Cintra. But the power once again resonated in Cirilla’s mother. Then we do not know Cirilla’s abilities, except for unreliable accounts.”

“What... what are you saying?” she replied almost with a whisper, once again forgetting to address him properly.  Radovid seemed unbothered.

“I believe that it was sorcerers who carefully uncovered the  Cintran heritage and introduced the trait back in the bloodline via incest, which caused it to appear visibly in Cirilla. It is known that Calenthe’s parents were relatives. And it can’t be coincidence or luck that saved Lara Dorren’s blood from being lost. Especially since it’s rumored to be so strong.”

He was absolutely correct. But that much of the secret about Cirilla, even Sylvia didn’t know. So, she found herself once again shocked, deep in her thoughts. The Elder Blood was mighty, but it was still a curse to the bearer. Would  Aretuza or the brotherhood do such a thing? Or perhaps it was a single mage like  Vilgefortz who’d managed to save Lara Dorren’s power?

After giving Sylvia half a minute to digest,  Radovid went on. “This entire thing about the infamous Princess Cirilla... It caught my attention while I was studying the recent military campaigns of Nilfgaard. You can easily tell that all their attacks and movements are carefully planned, always serving a bigger plot. Except for the siege of Cintra. A lot of historians simply labeled it the gateway to the North but it makes no sense. It led nowhere. It weakened their army for no reason. The only result they got was the death of the Queen and the capture of the Princess. I say capture because she couldn’t possibly have gone to the killers of her family on her free will.”

“No, she couldn’t.” Sylvia replied absentmindedly, remembering the sorrow in Ciri’s eyes when she’d seen her in  Thanedd . 

“We can conclude from this,  Nilfgaard risked an entire military campaign on North, just to capture the Princess. And sure, she is important. Heiress to Cintra, heiress to  Ard Skellig, princess of Brugge duchess of Sodden, suzerain of  Attre, and Abb  Yarra ... And some more titles.”

He fixed his eyes on the chessboard. “Historians argue that the war was waged to have a legitimate claim on Cintra by making Cirilla the empress but come on, when did Emhyr care about legitimacy? He conquered kingdoms by the sword before, he doesn’t need marriage for that. It’d be smarter for him to marry a relative of one of his ever-revolting Lords. But he chose to marry Cirilla, who no doubt is special beyond the common comprehension.  Emhyr wants to introduce Lara Dorren’s blood to his own bloodline. Which makes me believe in the Princess’s powers.  Emhyr wouldn’t risk all this for a folk tale.”

Sylvia was overwhelmed with fear. And that fear was not because she could guess what he was about to say next, but because the young King’s intelligence and cunning were dangerously sharp. At that stage, she knew she couldn’t lie to him about Ciri without confirming his deductions.

“Cirilla has powers beyond even the abilities of a sorcerer, am I correct?”

“Yes.” she responded quietly, moving her eyes away.

“And you know what those powers are?”

“I doubt anybody knows the full extent of her powers, including herself. But yes.”

Radovid rubbed his chin, his smile disappearing as he picked up a chess piece to play with it. “And the girl  Emhyr is getting ready to marry right now, she is a fake, isn’t she?”

Sylvia didn’t respond.

“Come on, Sylvia. I am anything but stupid. Someone who possesses such power that we cannot even talk about it will not stay with the killers of her family. If it was real Cirilla, she would have disappeared by now.”

“Yes.  Emhyr’s fiancée is a fake.”

Radovid leaned forward, his face getting closer to Sylvia’s. “Tell me Sylvia, where is Princess Cirilla?”

“Gone.”

“She’s dead?”

“No. She disappeared. Left this dimension, this world, whatever you call it. The day Witcher Geralt and Sorceress Yennefer died, Ciri disappeared with their bodies and was never seen again. She won’t be back. She is the Lady of Time and Space; nothing can stop her or chain her down. Not  Emhyr var  Emreis , not you, not Cintra.”

“I was hoping the last one would be an option at least.”  Radovid smiled.

Sylvia, now cold enough that she couldn’t feel her nose or her arms, wrapped her arms around herself  tighter . “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“I planned on finding her and taking back Cintra for her.”

“What?”

“Cintra would be a valuable ally and a great buffer between the South and the North. Besides, it can only be extremely beneficial to gain the favor of Lara Dorren’s heiress.”

“There’s Tameria between us and Cintra.”

“Is there now?”  Radovid smiled for a short second. “I must have forgotten that. Sylvia... are you cold?”

“Freezing, Your Majesty. I’m surprised you aren’t.”

“Ugh...” The King looked around, his childish attitude taking over briefly. “I enjoy cold weather; it keeps me alert and smart. But I forget that it is not for everybody. Let me see...”

He stood up and walked around the room a few times, looking for something he could give to the sorceress. In the end, he decided to search one of his wardrobes. As the sorceress watched him with sleepy, half-open eyes, he picked up a woolen cape with the royal insignia and threads luxurious enough that Sylvia could not recognize the type.

“Here, put this on you.” he said, moving his eyes away from the sorceress as he extended the cape towards her with a stiff arm. Sylvia reached for the cloth and happily wrapped herself, immediately feeling warmer. Thankfully the King was taller than her, which meant that she was well covered.

But then, it hit her.

“Does this mean... Can I not return to my chambers?”

“What? No.”  Radovid looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t call you just to talk about the  Cintran princess. That was just the beginning.” Then he pushed a map of the Northern continent towards her. “We have our own war to plan.”

“With me?”

“Yes. Most of my Lords are idiots and I cannot replace them until I fix the taxation system, which will be another year at the shortest. Besides...”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I think I started to enjoy your presence, sorceress.”


	8. Aenye, aine, n'te deith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate once again connects Geralt to Ciri. The Lodge of Sorceresses makes its move. Radovid and Sylvia bring the country to the edge of war.

When the sorceress opened her eyes, she found herself in an awkward position. Her bones hurt and her messy hair tickled her face, but most importantly, the wind brushed her skin, leaving a trail of agitated goosebumps. Even halfway through the summer, the Northern winds remained strong at least until noon. 

  
It took her a minute to orient herself to her surroundings. She was still in the King’s chamber of the Royal Flagship, half-lying down on the armchair she had sat on all night, making plans with Radovid. The entire process had surprised her but she couldn’t help but feel impressed by the King’s intelligence. 

  
But it wasn’t just intelligence. Plenty of smart men acquired power, yet, only a fraction of them maintained it. Radovid was more than smart; he was brave. But his courage did not come from passion or ambition. It came from meticulous planning and calculation. 

  
_“That’s suicide!” Sylvia had objected to his plan a couple of hours ago. As the night advanced, she’d stopped bothering with titles and proper addressing._

  
_“No, Sylvia. It’s a risk. No war has been won without taking risks.”_

  
_“Your lords still think this is just a rebellion.”_

  
_“They don’t see the Kaedweni threat. Or rather, they refuse to see it because it would benefit them if Henselt gains foot and I have to turn my attention toward him instead of my own court. Regardless, I believe this plan will suffice.”_

  
_“The ship will set sail to Kaedweni border, to give the impression that the entire Redanian armada is demobilized. In the meantime, the army itself will be a day’s distance from Murivel.” Sylvia started the recap._

  
_“Except, they will never go there. Only a small platoon will arrive Murivel to deal with the rebellion. The rest will enter the Eastern duchies.”_   
_“And... arrest your own Dukes?”_

  
_Radovid grinned. “Not all of them of course. There is one or two I am fond of.”_

  
_Sylvia tapped her fingers on the map, anxiously. “You are going to use the Flagship to trick Kaedwen into thinking the entire armada is at their door, so they will stop sending troops to Murivel rebellion. The elite platoon will be enough to suppress the revolt. Then the rest of the army will arrest your unruly Dukes and take over their lands. The Dukes will not have a chance to prepare for an attack because they think the army is mobilized to deal with the rebellion.”_

  
_The King stopped smiling. “Precisely.”_

  
_“Except... It’s a bet. The Kaedweni forces may choose to attack, seeing it’s your ship. We should have sailed with a non-discrete ship instead.”_

  
_“Then Dukes would get suspicious.”_

  
_“The Flagship is ceremonial; it’s not built for fighting.”_

  
_“I know my own ships, sorceress.” The King rubbed his forehead. “But... in case of emergency, is there anything you can do to evacuate?”_

  
_“There is absolutely nothing I can do for the crew.” Sylvia bit her lip in stress. “There is a chance I can teleport you somewhere else but you definitely require a better sorcerer for this task.”_

  
_“That doesn’t sound so bad. I wonder what other forgotten village of my realm you’d land us on?” he chuckled dryly. Sylvia blushed._

  
_After a moment of silence, Sylvia raised her head and locked her tired, yellow eyes to the King’s. “Your Grace... Why are you telling me all these? I doubt anyone else except for you know the plan. Why... do you trust me?”_

  
_“Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t trusted others even a day in my life.” The King replied, with a piece of hatred in his voice that he could not hide. But he collected himself quickly._

  
_“Are you not worried that I will tell these to Philippa? Or any of the lords?”_

  
_“You won’t.” The King replied._

  
_“Is that an order or a prediction?”_

  
_“Neither. It’s a fact. Am I wrong, Sylvia?”_

  
_“No. But...”_

  
_“But?”_

  
_“It’s not like I would have said yes.”_

  
_“True. I don’t need you to say yes or no. I simply know that you will not talk to Eilhart or any of my unruly Dukes.”_

  
_He wasn’t wrong, Sylvia knew that. What she didn’t know was the reason why she’d chosen loyalty or at least, silence._

  
_“Now, if you’re done wasting our time, we have much to talk about. There are four duchies on the East that the army needs to cover and I have not yet decided the plan for that.”_

  
_The rest of the night was much more lighthearted. It surprised Sylvia how calm both of them were, planning the capture of four incredibly powerful men in their own castles. While she knew little about the army and how it functioned, she knew a great deal about the Royal Mages and their capabilities. It surprised her, even more, to see how little Radovid knew about his own arcane arsenal, which meant that Philippa had established a monopoly over Redanian magic, not letting even Radovid use his own subjects._

  
_In that room, the King often showed a face Sylvia had never seen before. His humor was dry and rather offensive, yet, he joked around with amused expressions. He even got comfortable calling Sylvia with her name. Once he started to badmouth Philippa, Sylvia couldn’t help but laughed. She was thankful to her for saving her life but it did not change the fact that anyone with two eyes or two ears could conclude that she was an absolute bitch._

  
_Among the bickering and the planning, Sylvia failed to notice she was falling asleep._

  
After her eyes got used to the light, she sat up on the chair and yawned. That was when she noticed that she was alone in the room. The second thing she noticed was the large, wooly cape covering her body, which was thrown onto her in a rather clumsy manner. The two-headed eagle emblem on the cape, the royal insignia of Redania, made it very clear who the owner of the cape was.   
Still feeling sleepy from the little sleep she got, Sylvia stood up. Instinctively, she wrapped the cape around herself, which thankfully covered her back and shoulders. The coffee table near the armchair that was full of plans and notes the night before was now empty. 

  
It felt awkward being alone in the King’s chamber. As the churning inside her stomach got tighter, she decided it was best to leave. So, on her tiptoes, the sorceress pushed the door open. 

  
“My lady, you’re alright!” Jan yelled, causing Sylvia to take a step back. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you. But the King left and you didn’t so I-” 

  
It took Sylvia a long second to notice why the guard had stopped talking. His eyes had quickly moved on Sylvia, registering both the nightdress that had gotten messy from sleeping on the armchair and the cape that belonged to the King himself. 

  
“Forgive me, my lady. I’m overstepping my duties.” The young guard looked down, blushing with a sad look.

  
“It’s alright, Jan. I also entered this room thinking I was about to get executed. Turns out His Majesty only wanted to talk.” she attempted to explain. But then again, why was she trying to explain herself to a guard? Well, it was clearly the sense of innocence and trust Jan exuded from his big blue eyes and smooth features. Sylvia thought that one could look at his face for an extended amount of time and only feel good things. 

  
Jan did not respond for a while. “Should I escort you to your room, my lady?” 

  
“Yes.” Sylvia smiled. “The shortest route possible, please.” 

* * *

From the very first image, he knew that it was a dream. Having spent many years being terrorized by nightmares, it was unusual for him to understand that the visions weren’t real but this time, his mind was victorious. Perhaps it was the realization that he was watching a scene unfold before his eyes that helped him understand. He wasn’t sure. 

The first vision was of someone he had never met before. The man he saw was tall and big, covered with an armor of thick metal, shaped to resemble a skeleton. His helmet had a metal mask in the shape of a skull and from his head, raised small metal spikes. He shuddered at the vision, even though his entire purpose was to not tremble against such horrors of the world. 

The man in armor kicked open a wooden door to a cottage, which looked run down and forgotten. The surrounding area was a swamp, looking freshly flooded. Once the door was broken because of the kick, the man in armor entered the cottage. 

For a while, it was all quiet. Then the man in the armor exited the cottage, his feet covered in blood. 

“How did it go?” another man in armor asked, in Elvish. 

“Waste of my time.” the skull-helmet replied, taking his helmet off, revealing the unmistakable face of an Aen Elle elf. 

“The man knew nothing about Zirael?” 

“No.” The elf tried to stay patient. “He didn’t even know who she was. Kept calling her angel. Apparently, she was in his bed but left last night, before he woke up.” 

“Disgusting.” 

“It is. Zirael needs to be disciplined, among many other things.” 

Almost like the dream had never started, the scene got destroyed in a blur and another appeared. This time featuring someone he knew very well. 

In this scene, an ashen-haired girl was lying on the ground, covered in her own blood. However, everything else was unrecognizable. She seemed to be on the ground, yet the ground wasn’t dirt but of a smooth, black material. Behind her, there was a building but it was the strangest thing. The entire thing was covered in glass and it was so tall, it reached the sky. As if that wasn’t enough bright lights appeared from every direction, in the most absurd colours. 

The girl kept dragging herself on the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind her. She dragged herself until she reached a big green box that seemed to hold disgusting trash. She rested her back on the wall and let out a painful moan. 

At that stage he woke up from the dream, screaming. Sweat was dripping down his messy white hair, falling on his naked chest that was full of scars. Once he realized that he was awake, he immediately started to regulate his breathing. 

However, it was too late. His scream had already woken up the woman sleeping beside him. She also raised her body from the cloth they were sleeping on. 

“My love?” 

“I’m fine, Yen.” Geralt replied, moving his hand across his face. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Nightmare?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought you did not have those anymore.” 

“I didn’t. Until now. Don’t worry about that.” 

The raven-haired sorceress moved her slender hand on the Witcher’s hair with a soft smile and a hazy look inside her violet eyes. The affection and the tranquility were strictly against her nature, yet, ever since they had arrived on the island, both of them were increasingly losing most of their feelings and memories, until only peace and quiet would remain. 

Her other hand fiddled with the rag Geralt was wearing around his waist. 

“What was the nightmare about? Tell me.” 

“Ciri.” 

“Ciri?” Yennefer blinked a few times with a sleepy look. “Ciri is ought to be fine. And safe.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do.” Yennefer replied, fixing the straps of her undergarment. “Because everything ought to be fine.” 

Geralt looked around. They had been sleeping on the cape he was wearing the day... 

The day they died. 

Geralt had always imagined being dead would be simply ceasing to exist. No afterlife, no judgment day. And he knew that was correct for most people. But being the chosen-parents of the Lady of Time and Space, even death was unusual for two of them. 

But he didn’t complain. This was fine. Just like everything. 

Everything ought to be fine. 

“You’re right.” he responded to the sorceress. Ciri is...” 

“Strong. Special. Smart. And safe.” 

“And safe.” Geralt repeated absentmindedly. The terror from the nightmare was almost gone, leaving its space to calmness. The waves hitting the sandy shore helped. 

Yennefer stood up and started to undo the straps of her undergarment, which had lost its color. 

“I am going for a swim.” 

Geralt did not respond. Instead, he looked at her, with a wide grin on his face. 

If it meant spending the eternity with Yennefer of Vengerberg, death was a small price to pay. 

* * *

Margarita Laux-Antille tapped her fingers on the oak table, anxiously. The women sitting around her were so quiet, it was making her nervous. As much as it was a pleasure to be surrounded by women she liked and respected, what disturbed her was their endless bickering over issues Margarita could not care less. 

With her casual fieriness, Sabrina was pacing the room. “Any clue why Philippa summoned us all of a sudden? I have more important things to do.” 

“Like what?” Keira Metz giggled. “Looking for new ways to give Henselt an erection? Truly the pinnacle of arcane victories.” 

“Shut your mouth or I’ll make you regret every word which left that filth of yours!” the sorceress responded. Ida chuckled. 

“Ladies, please!” Triss Merigold interrupted. "If Philippa didn’t have something important to say, we wouldn’t be here.” 

“She’s just upset that his little King gave him babysitting duty.” Sabrina rolled her eyes. “It’s not our fault she can’t control her monarch like she used to.” 

“Mind your manners, Sabrina.” Sheala de Tancarville interrupted with a firm voice. “If there is a problem regarding the governance of Redania, that is something we all should know of. Sit down. Philippa herself should be here soon.” 

Sheala’s voice seemed to affect Sabrina because she walked back to her seat around the long, stone table and sat down. However, a displeased look remained still on her face until Philippa opened the stone door of the Montecalvo dining room and entered with Cynthia right behind her, who was holding a large paper, folded in a cylinder. 

“My sisters,” she said with a smile, “What a pleasure to see all of you here. I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Yeah yeah, cut the niceties.” Sabrina said, moving her arms around. “I thought we weren’t supposed to convene for another 2 months. And who is the girl behind you?” 

“I wouldn’t have invited you here if I did not have something vital to say.” Philippa Eilhart rolled her eyes. “This is my apprentice, Cynthia. You do not need to hesitate around her, I know how to choose people around me.” 

All the sorceress around the table had doubt clear on their faces. But none of them objected. If the girl was here, they concluded, she already knew more than enough anyway. 

“Before we start, I’d like to give me congratulations to Triss.” Philippa said, pulling a chair. “I can’t imagine it being easy to regain your place in the Tamerian court.” 

Triss blushed. “Thank you, Philippa. I received great council from you and Keira.” 

“I wonder what kind of council Keira could possibly give.” Sabrina rolled her eyes, now looking extremely bored. 

“Better than you ever could. At least I bother to help others” the blonde-haired sorceress responded. 

“Ladies, please.” Fringilla Vigo spoke for the first time. “I am curious about what Philippa has to say. Congratulations Triss. It can only be beneficial to have one of our sisters advising the King of Tameria.” 

Triss responded with a courteous head nod. Philippa waited for other sorceresses to also give their kind words. 

“Now, a less pleasing matter: The situation in Redania. As I expect all of you to notify me of any changes in your respective courts, I similarly must provide you the same information.” 

“Are the rumors true, Philippa?” Triss asked, rubbing her hand. “That... Radovid is uncontrollable?” 

“No man is uncontrollable.” Philippa’s voice got firmer as she scowled.

“But yes, he is becoming an issue. If you ask me, I’d say prolonged puberty. But I cannot deny that he is intelligent.” 

“What about the Queen Mother?” Francesca, the Queen of the Free Elves spoke with her beautiful voice. All heads were immediately turned to her. “I recall you mentioning that she never crossed your council.” 

“That is still true. However, in his fight for freedom, Radovid decided to estrange his own mother as well. Thus, her voyage away from the palace. He takes action without consulting anyone and he clearly resents me.” 

“That sounds troubling.” Sheala placed her hand under her chin. “I assume you already have a plan. It is not like you to simply complain.” 

“A plan?” Philippa grinned. “I have multiple plans, sisters.” 

“So how do you plan to... well, for lack of better words, win the King back?” 

“We have a bargaining chip, my lady.” Cynthia responded. Normally her speaking would be unacceptable but Keira was flattered to be called a lady. “The King has been attempting to build a relationship with Madame Eilhart’s other apprentice.” 

“In a romantic way? That is very ideal.” Ida joined the conversation. 

“Unfortunately, no.” Philippa shook her head. “He is not that type of person, I sent many beautiful women at his way. They couldn’t go beyond one night in his bed. In fact, he kicked them out the moment he was done.” 

“Perhaps you need to send in a man.” Margarita brainstorm. 

“Tried, Even less successful. He was completely uninterested. I believe he is interested in my apprentice as a counter-spy and as an ally.” 

“Does he trust her?” Francesca asked. 

“No, my lady. I doubt he trusts anyone. But he is smart enough to know he needs an ally.” Cynthia chipped in.

“But not smart enough to hurt me.” Philippa added, irritation exuding from her voice. 

“I remember the girl.” Francesca moved her elegant neck to face the room. “You brought her here after Thanedd. Your healing spells could only stabilize her but not cure her.” 

“I’d never seen someone bleed that much and still survive.” Ida shook her head. “I don’t know much else about her though. She thanked me and Francesca profusely during her treatment but she was asleep most of the time.” 

“Thanks to your unmatched skills, she is now strong as an ox.” Philippa responded. 

“Good to hear. Too many young sorceresses died that night. But what about her? Is she reliable?” 

“She fears and respects Madame Eilhart. She is not the type of person to engage in intrigue. We believe she would seek a way to appease both the King and Madame Eilhart. And in addition, she and I have been close companions. In the unlikely case that she keeps things from Madame Eilhart, she will come to me.” 

“I see. So, this girl will not only provide you information on the King’s plans, but will also give Radovid a false sense of victory. Not bad.” Sabrina talked, this time with a calmer voice. 

“Precisely, Sabrina.” 

“Good. Good. But you said you also have other plans to share.” 

Philippa smiled. “Cynthia, place the map on the table, please. Sisters, I want you to look at Upper Aedirn, near Vergen. Between the Blue Mountains and Dyfne river.” 

“Demavend’s land? Why should we be interested in this?” Margarita asked. Politics simply bore her. 

“Well, I was there last week and I met a lovely young lady.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be guarding the Queen-Mother, in the middle of nowhere.” 

“Please.” Philippa laughed. “Nobody can prevent me from going where I want, King or not. Now, let me tell you about the woman I met, named Saskia.” 

* * *

For a few minutes, Sylvia sat down on the oak chair and watched her reflection in the mirror. As the sun was going down, the vision had become darker. She was now wearing her black cotton breeches, topped by a white shirt and a low-cut, black-cashmere tunic that was made fit by a large belt. The long-heeled boots she was wearing reached almost her knees. Everything she wore belonged to Philippa. Her curly hair was let loose except for the thin black hairband keeping her face free of strands.  
  
The way she looked would make Aretuza sorceresses proud for sure. Carrying the weight and importance they had, sorceresses existed in a men’s world, who always paid more attention to how a woman looked than what she said. She wondered if that was also the case for Radovid. He was a strange young man with an even stranger thought process, yet, Sylvia felt something about him in her heart that she knew would infuriate him. 

Pity. 

She pitied the King for losing his father so early. She pitied him for being raised by Philippa Eilhart, for having a weak mother who gave away his powers, for having subjects that saw him as a puppet. For years Philippa had ridiculed him, depriving him of his own inheritance. And being the smart, heartbroken young man he was, he now seemed to compensate radically. 

Or at least, Sylvia believed so. 

The King had ordered earlier that the Flagship would be completely blacked out. The crew and the passengers were only allowed to light candles if their cabin windows were covered. In addition, he had ordered everyone to be as quiet as possible as the ship approached the Kaedweni border. The arrival was supposed to be as quiet as possible, to give the impression that more ships followed. 

Once Sylvia saw the mountains on the window of her cabin, she knew it was time to go. With quiet steps, she approached the wooden door, which once opened, caused cold wind to hit her face. With an impulse decision, she took the King’s cape, which was warmer than any clothing Philippa had in the clothing chest. Besides, it was the perfect opportunity to return it. 

Holding a tiny candle that did not do much illuminating, she climbed the stairs and eventually reached the deck. Only the essential sailors were around but they were extremely quiet. The sorceress walked past them quietly and approached the corner where the King had notified her via an envoy that he’d be waiting. 

Seeing him in his royal outfit and a thin gold breastplate made her choke up. It was one thing planning a very risky plan and another to implement it. The sword hanging from the King’s belt was the proof for that. He was ready to fight. 

“Your Grace” 

“Sylvia.” he responded without turning to look at her. Hearing nothing else from him, Sylvia exhaled quietly and approached to stand right next to the King, only to find him staring at the shore with no expression on his face.  
  
“My apologies for falling asleep earlier, Your Grace. I have brought back your cape.” 

“I hadn’t noticed that you took it.” Radovid said, nonchalantly. Sylvia felt embarrassment travel through her body. “You can keep it. I have more,” he added and the sorceress thought that it was silly of a king to say that. 

She was about to ask him if she was sure but thankfully, her judgment stopped her. “Thank you. I just walked through the lower deck. Everybody was quiet and the entire ship is darkened.” 

“Of course, it is. I made it very clear that I’d behead anybody who dares to make a noise or light a lamp.” 

Of course he did. 

For a couple of minutes, they stood there, quietly. 

“It is almost time.” Radovid said and started to walk towards the stern with soft steps. Sylvia accompanied. “Are you sure you’ll be able to do it?” 

“Your Grace... I understand that you’re not fond of Madame Philippa but she is the greatest illusion mage ever lived on the continent. I am not exaggerating. Her talent is unmatched. And I’ve had the pleasure of being personally trained by her.” 

Where was the courage coming from? The previous night? 

“Why, forgive me.” Radovid said, a teasing grin appearing on his lips. “Unfortunately, the only glimpse I had of your talents is when you pushed me into an unstable portal like a tiny battering ram, only to end up at an awfully underdeveloped corner of my realm.” 

Now she was blushing. “Well... Fair enough, Your Grace. But yes, I can do it.” 

“What about the... evacuation plan?” 

“As long as I remain calm, I can teleport you elsewhere, You Grace. Should the need arise, I will aim for the palace.” 

“Aim?” 

“Portals are not always accurate.” 

“I see. Regardless... The ship cannot advance further without it being a declaration of war, so whatever you do, you must do it here.” 

Sylvia closed her eyes. First, she inhaled the cool air, then slowly exhaled. 

“I am ready whenever you give the order.” 

“Now.” Radovid said calmly, once again surprising Sylvia. 

The sorceress walked to the edge of the stern, and the King followed. Once Sylvia nodded to give him the sign, he lighted a lantern, which immediately illuminated his black and red-colored outfit and Sylvia’s gold-colored eyes. 

Their eyes locked for a short second and Sylvia noticed the doubt in Radovid’s eyes. Trying to ignore that and trying to not think of Philippa, she turned towards the sea. She raised both her arms gently and let the wind move through her body, calming her mind. 

She hadn’t lied. Philippa was the greatest illusion mage known in the continent and she had done an excellent job training her apprentices. Once her mind was clear, the spell was natural for Sylvia. Her eyes closed, she pictured in her head the light that had just appeared on the King’s lantern. In a few seconds, a beam of light appeared a few meters in front of her out of thin air, which was a replica of the lantern’s light.   
Soon after, a few more of the replica followed. Sylvia pulled her hands back a little bit and then pushed them back forward, imitating the motion of a tidal wave. The small balls of light started to fly gently towards the back, multiplying as they moved. In less than a few minutes, enough lights were staying still with a set distance that from the shore, it was indistinguishable from an armada advancing in the dark. 

When Sylvia finally opened her eyes, the view of the replica lights looked like large fireflies, which made her feel happy. 

“It’s... beautiful, Sylvia.” 

That was when she suddenly remembered the existence of the King. 

Once she turned towards him, she noticed that his eyes were locked on the lights and his face now had a clear sense of surprise. 

“They are connected to your lantern, your grace. They will follow it. So, if the ship moves, these lights will follow, maintaining the distance.” 

“That’s... incredible.” 

Sylvia couldn’t help but smile widely. It felt like an achievement, showing the King that magic was beauty among the chaos. 

“As long as I’m focused, they will remain until the dawn.” 

“Good. Now we wait.” 

Next ten minutes or so, both of them watched the Kaedweni shore, holding their breaths. It felt like time had stopped. Both of them knew that once a watcher would notice the “lanterns,” the Flagship would either get bombarded or they would get what they wanted. 

“Sylvia! Look!” 

The sorceress squinted her eyes to see but she didn’t need to. Soon she heard a bell on the shore. 

“Turn the lights off, now! I need them to think we just noticed them and turning off our lights in panic.” 

Once she heard the command, she raised her arms once again. This time, the process was louder. 

“ _Aenye, aine, cáelm. Aenye, aine, n'te deith_ ” 

And the lights disappeared. 

Once again, everything was quiet. Sylvia knew that should Kaedwen respond, she would have around ten seconds to teleport the King to safety. So instinctively, she grabbed the King on his arm with one hand and extended the other one towards the space near them, ready to conjure a portal. 

The silence ensued. And it was the King who broke it half a minute later, his voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“ _Fire, light; be calm. Fire, light; do not flare up._ ” 

The sorceress was taken aback. “You... know Elder Speech?” 

“I learned a little bit out of curiosity when I was younger.” The King responded as he pulled his hair a bit to prevent Sylvia’s hair from hitting his face with the wind. Sylvia wanted to ask more questions about that but she knew she had to maintain her focus. 

In a few minutes, the King shook her. “Sylvia, look! Their lanterns are turning on.” 

“That’s bad?” 

“No! If they were to fire at us, they would have turned their lights off to hide their location. They’re doing this to warn us. It... it has worked!” The King said, with joy in his voice that Sylvia had never heard from him before. 

He released himself from her clutch and turned towards her to give her a large smile. Placing both his hands on her shoulders, he shook her a little bit. “We did it, sorceress! We did it.” 

Then, Sylvia relaxed and gave him a small smile of relief. The King turned back and yelled at the nearest soldier. 

“You!” 

“Yes... yes... Your Grace?” 

“Run to the captain this instant. Tell him to open the envelope I gave him earlier and follow the instructions to the letter.” 

“Yes, Your Grace!” the sailor replied and started to run. 

“Now,” the King held the sorceress on her shoulders once again. “Now I need you to teleport me to somewhere I can meet my troops.” 

“What?” Sylvia was shocked. “Your Grace... You should... probably sleep first. Forgive me but I am not sure if you slept at all last night and...” 

“I’ll sleep when I die, sorceress.” The King replied but the joy was too obvious in his voice. “Where can you take me?” 

“Most likely near Ghelibol. I haven’t been to the city but I’ve been to the delta on South.” 

“Fantastic. Let’s go.” 

“Now!?” 

“Yes, are you deaf?” 

Slyvia blinked a couple of times, looking at the King’s face. He was serious. She sighed. 

Philippa was going to kill her for real this time. 

“Let me run downstairs and grab my bag, Your Grace. I need my component pouch for spells.” 

“Then hurry.” The King replied. But once Sylvia started to walk quickly, he yelled behind her. 

“Sylvia?” 

She stopped. “Yes, Your Grace?” 

“Thank you.” 


	9. The Way Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dandelion follows Philippa's instructions. Sylvia and Radovid look for a common ground.

_ At the height of the summer, the sun was tormenting. Around noon, everybody in the village was sweating and the noise from the crickets was deafening. Still, work did not stop. The young girl advanced through the fields on which the villagers were harvesting crops. They did not turn to look at her and she did not call out to them. Normally she would not mind chitchat but the basket she carried was heavy enough that she decided to mind her own business. _

_ It took her almost half an hour to pass through the fields and the dirt road the caravans used. After that, she reached a nicer part of the village, so she stopped next to a small stream to wash her face and her feet. Then she wrapped her bright white bandana around her head again, letting her curly brown hair roam free on purpose. She even pinched her own cheeks to give them some  _ _ colour _ _.  _

_ Once she reached the stone house surrounded by a short wall made of stone, she inhaled and exhaled to control her breathing. Then she knocked. The door was answered by a boy who looked a few years older than the girl. _

_ “Who’re you?” he asked, sounding bothered. _

_ “I’ve brought your laundry.” the girl replied, blushing enough to make the pinching obsolete. _

_ “Huh? Those? You didn’t need to; we told your mother we would send someone to pick them up.” _

_ The girl did not respond. Feeling flustered, her blue eyes avoided the boys’ and she looked down. For a time that felt like an eternity, the boy looked at her without an expression on his face. Then he moved aside. “Alright. Come in.” _

_ Feeling butterflies in her stomach, the girl entered the largest house she’d ever seen with shy steps, still carrying the heavy basket of clean clothes.  _

_ “Wipe under your shoes.” _

_ She obeyed his instruction and used the worn doormat to do so. Then she started to follow him through the entrance that was used to store some kegs. _

_ “What are those?” _

_ “Huh?” _

_ “The laundry. What did you bring?” _

_ “Oh yes.” she blushed again. “It’s towels.” _

_ The boy led her to the kitchen that was larger than the girl’s entire house. Her eyes moved over the gourds and the dried meats hanging from the ceiling. _

_ “You can put the basket on the corner.” _

_ The girl did not respond but carried the basket and placed it where he wanted. After the thumping noise she exhaled, feeling the relief of getting rid of the weight. Turning around, she noticed that the boy had been watching her movements carefully. _

_ “Aren’t you awfully dressed up for a washerwoman’s daughter?” _

_ She couldn’t respond. He was right. She’d spent all her morning trying to look pretty for the boy standing in front of her now, looking at her with his bright green eyes and silky blonde hair. _

_ “And you carried the basket all the way here. Even though you didn’t need to.” _

_ Once again, she stayed quiet. _

_ “I’ve noticed you before, you know.” he said, rubbing his chin. “At  _ _ Belleteyn _ _. You were watching me the whole time.” _

_ The girl was blushing so hard, it was impossible to hide it. The boy reached and held her on the chin, then raised her head up to force eye contact. _

_ “You like me, don’t you?” _

_ The girl couldn’t speak. _

_ “Answer me.” _

_ “I... I do.” she responded, her heart beating like there was no tomorrow. His touch had electrified all her body, making her feel like it was a dream. And perhaps it was. She’d never imagined she’d be talking to the boy she had been watching from a distance for a year now. _

_ “You’re a cute little thing.” he grinned and caressed her cheek. “How old are you?” _

_ “Fifteen.” _

_ “I see. Follow me. I’ll show you something.” _

_ He pulled his hand back and started walking. Seeing that she hesitated, he nudged her. “Come now. Don’t be scared.” _

_ Unsure and confused, the girl followed the boy. He walked through the kitchen and moved the small table, behind which there was a wooden door that opened to the pantry. He  _ _ led _ _ them in. _

_ The  _ _ pantry _ _ was small and it was full of crates and barrels. Almost in the middle, there was another wooden table, looking old and unused. The boy closed the door behind them.  _

_ “Do you... do you like me too?” she found the courage to ask. The boy walked towards her with a grin and caressed her cheek once again. “Why would I not? You’re a pretty girl.” _

_ She smiled. Her heart beating hard and her body temperature rising, she forgot everything she ever knew and found herself charmed by the boy, who seemed like everything she ever wanted and needed. And perhaps he was after all. He was the youngest son of the village mayor and she’d never seen a boy as handsome as he was. _

_ “What are you going to show me?” _

_ “I’ll show you what men do when they like a girl.” he said, still smirking. “And you’ll be the happiest girl in the world.” _

_ She thought she already was. _

_ “You’re really young so I bet you don’t know many things. So, you need to trust me. I’ll even introduce you to my friends afterward.” _

_ She couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. I trust you.” _

_ “Good.” his grin disappeared. “Turn around.” _

_ She obeyed.  _

_ “Put your chest on the table.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Do it!” _

_ Quietly, she did what he said.  _

_ “Good girl. Now hold on to the _ _ corner. Just like that. Good girl. Don’t you dare to move, do you understand? If you move, I’ll leave.” _

_ At that stage, she was aware she didn’t know or understand. So, she decided to do what he asked. Facing the wall, she didn’t know what he was doing in the back. All she heard was rustling. _

_ Suddenly, she felt his body on her bottom, and he leaned on over her and grabbed her on her small breasts. She gasped and tried to move. _

_ “What did I say?!” the boy scolded her. “Do not move. I’m showing you what love is. If you keep  _ _ moving, _ _ I’ll leave and everybody will laugh at you.” _

_ Scared, she stopped moving. _

_ “Good girl.” he repeated. His hands hastily pulled her chemise down her shoulders, until it reached her stomach. Then he cupped her breasts again, squeezing until she was in pain. Then she felt something hard pressing on her  _ _ buttocks _ _. _

_ “Aren’t you sweet?” he said, rubbing himself on her skirt. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” _

_ In reality, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. She had a tingling feeling between her legs that hit her with painfully sweet pulsations but at the same time, she felt scared. But he’d said that she could trust him, so everything was fine. _

_ He pulled his hands back and she heard the ruffling of clothes. After that, before she could understand what he was doing, the boy lifted her skirt up and pulled her undergarment down. Then she felt a pain so sharp, she opened her mouth to yell. _

_ At that very moment, the boy moaned in pleasure but did not forget to cover the girl’s mouth, so her voice would be muffled. Once he pulled his hand back, she talked almost in a whisper as a droplet of tear went down her cheek. “It hurts.” _

_ “That’s fine.” the boy replied as he started to thrust back and forth. “You’re a big girl, aren’t you? You don’t mind this. We love each other, right?” _

_ She stayed quiet. Her hands grabbed on the table tighter as the boy thrust from the back, causing her naked breasts to go red as her body moved on the wooden table. Her small groans of pain were muffled under the boy's moans of pleasure. He placed his hand on her head, forcing her to stay more put on the furniture.  _

_ He didn’t last long at all but to the girl, those few minutes felt like an eternity. Once he finished and she felt him filling her with his warm seed, she finally understood what had just happened. _

_ “Oh, you little bitch, you felt good.” he said, wiping his dick on one of the towels she’d carried. When he noticed that the girl was still on the table with tears on her face, he threw another towel on her. “What are you waiting for? Get dressed.” _

_ Unable to speak, the girl picked up the towel and tried to clean the blood off of her thighs, sobbing quietly. The boy looked unfazed. _

_ Once she was dressed once again, he looked at her messy hair and red face. “What are you waiting for? Get the hell out of here!” _

_ Her blue eyes opened widely. “What?” _

_ “You heard me. I told you to get the hell out!” _

_ “But...” _

_ “But what? What did you think? Wait... You didn’t really think I like you or anything, did you?” _

_ The girl sniffed, in disbelief. _

_ “Oh, you stupid little thing. Me? With a washerwoman’s daughter? You’re not even pretty. Your body is like a child’s. Get the hell out of my house and never bother me again!” _

_ Everything feeling like a nightmare, the girl started to waddle towards the door, trying to ignore the pain, both physical and mental. _

_ “And by the way,” he yelled behind her back, “Tell people about this and nobody will ever marry you. Just like your whore mother, you’ll be forever alone. I’d keep quiet about it if I were you. I bet you even enjoyed it. Take it as a gift from me. Now, get lost!” _

_ She ran to her house, faster than she ever had. She didn’t mind dropping one of her shoes on the way. Once she reached the stream, she threw herself in. The  _ _ cold water _ _ made her shiver but among her sobbing, she didn’t notice the cold. _

_ Once she’d left the stream, she’d stopped crying. Once again, she started running. When she reached the fields, one of the villagers looked at her. _

_ “Oi! Did you fall into the stream?  _ _ You _ _ silly girl!” a few others laughed. The girl didn’t stop and kept running. _

_ That night, she cried so much, she thought her eyes would go blind. _

* * *

With a big sigh, the bard entered the lecture hall. It was the same hall he himself had once sat as a student some years ago. Now it was only a quarter full, which discouraged him a little bit. Regardless, he didn’t let himself lose his spirit. After all, he was there with a clear mission.

“My esteemed colleagues!” he put on his performing-smile and near fifty people in the room started to applause. Reaching the lectern, Dandelion bowed gently. “Words cannot express how honored I am to be standing in front of you today. It’s been too long since I’ve last lectured here. The Academy of  Oxenfurt is home to me.”

He actually had not prepared a lecture but when it came to talking about something he loved, a script or a plan would only be a distraction. So, before he knew it, words were already escaping his mouth. He saw that the front row was completely taken by young women, as always. When it was Julian Alfred Pankratz talking about poetry and philosophy, for most people, nothing was important enough to miss that talk.

So, he was curious why the hall was near empty today.

Once he finished talking, he was half an hour over the planned time but nobody seemed to mind it. As applause went on, Dandelion bowed multiple times before leaving the stage.

When he walked down the stairs towards the entrance, multiple young women were already waiting in line to meet him. He grinned.

“Ladies... Your love for the arts is filling my heart with such joy!” One by one, he listened to their praises, answered their questions, and signed their books. When it was the turn of a blonde girl with the body of a goddess, he not only signed the book but also wrote the name of the inn he was staying at, as well as the room number.

Once that was done, he was approached by four professors who had also listened to the lecture. 

“Master Dandelion!” One of them patted the poet on the shoulder. “What a pleasure to have you here so unexpectedly.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Dandelion smiled  courteously . “But I must ask, was the attendance a little bit small today, or have I lost touch with the Academy?”

“No, it was.” another professor replied. “Forgive us, Viscount Pankratz. It wasn’t the welcome you deserved.  Unfortunately, there are rumors of some military movement towards the East so most students are anxious. I suppose they chose to stay in.”

“Is there now?” Dandelion asked half-heartedly, though making a mental note. “Back in my day, no war would stop us from learning.”

“New generation is pitiful for sure” the third professor shook her head. “But Master Dandelion, what brought you here? We had heard that you were in Novigrad.”

“Only briefly.” Dandelion replied, trying not to think about the events in the city with Philippa and her apprentice. “My real destination was always Oxenfurt.” he lied. “To visit my lovely academy and... catch up with my esteemed colleagues of course.”

All four of them smiled.

In less than half an hour, five of them were sitting around a large table in a nearby inn, sipping high-quality ale. Wherever he went, Dandelion always missed the quality of inns in the  Redanian city of arts and sciences. 

“But enough about me.” Dandelion said and his colleagues were a bit appalled. “How are your lives? Anything different now with the new King around?” he asked, making sure to give his tone a strong sense of humor. 

“ Radovid ?” philosophy professor named Jorge raised his eyebrows as he took a sip. “The boy is barely a kid. I heard his advisors even show him where the loo is!”

Everybody on the table laughed. Dandelion laughed with them. But his mind was working overtime.

“Come on now, friends. That can’t be everybody’s opinion! Or I’ll start thinking my Academy is growing mean”

Everybody on the table laughed again. 

“I think most of us agree that we don’t feel his presence” the only woman on the table, Lizabeth, a professor of Elvish literature, replied. “Nothing like when his father was alive. I think King  Vizimir wasn’t oppressive but I still didn’t feel as free as I do now.”

“I agree.” Jorge added. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it’s been good for you. May the King remain the way he is then.” the bard said, raising his tankard.

His colleagues joined him in doing that. 

* * *

_ “Hey, you!”  _

_ The girl raised her head up to look behind her. When she saw the group approaching, she felt her heart beat faster in fear. She didn’t quite know all of them. There was a total of six but she’d seen only two of them around in the village. Three of them were total strangers. And the last one was the blonde-haired son of the village mayor. _

_ She felt an invisible hand choke her on the throat. _

_ She decided that, if she stayed silent, perhaps they’d leave her alone.  _ _ So, _ _ without saying anything, she picked up the basket and started to walk away, fast. _

_ “Darling, where are you going?” one of the boys said with a smirk. Within seconds, all of them had caught up with her, surrounding.  _

_ “Home. I have work.” she said, trying to hide the panic in her voice. _

_ “Look at her pretending to be an innocent little maiden.” Another boy said, and all of them laughed. The girl started to look around in a panic, looking for a way out. _

_ “Come on now, sweetheart.” The village mayor’s son spoke. “Just give my friends a little taste of what you gave me the other day. I swear they’ll be gentler than I was.” _

_ Once again, all of them laughed. _

_ “Let me be!” she said, in an attempt to get rid of them. When she took a large step back, the mayor’s son grabbed her on her wrist, which caused her to lose her balance and fall on dirt. That seemed to entertain the boys even more.  _

_ Crawling on the dirt, she tried to get towards the wall, which she thought she could attempt to climb. With the other two sides being blocked by the boys, it was clear that they had chosen the location specifically, finding her when she was hanging laundry alone. _

_ Among their laughter, one of the boys grabbed her from behind on her waist and pulled her closer. Another boy pulled the bandana from her head, releasing her hair. And the mayor’s son pulled the collar of her dress down fast enough to rip some stitches, revealing the thin undergarments underneath. _

_ “Stop!” she yelled, tears coming down. One of the boys started to try covering her mouth with the bandana. _

_ Just three of the boys managed to pin her down and tear her dress but she was doing her best to not give them an easy time. Tears kept falling down and she kept squirming and trying to yell. _

_ “Stop fighting, whore!” the mayor’s son yelled. “Why are you even fighting? Nobody will want you anyway. I’m not a stingy man, I’ll give you money.” _

_ At that stage, her mouth was covered and she was getting tired. She closed her eyes. It was impossible to believe one bad decision had brought her here. Perhaps it was best to stop fighting, so it would be over as soon as possible. _

_ No. She wouldn’t stop fighting. _

_ Shuffling her head, she momentarily got rid of the bandana on her mouth. “I said stop!” she yelled her eyes closed, not realizing that she had opened both her palms towards the boy that was about to lift her skirt. As her voice echoed, the branches of the nearby trees broke, falling on the ground. _

_ When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The mayor’s son seemed to be sitting near the tree with his back on it and all the boys were far from her, as if they were pushed away by an invisible source. Except for the mayor’s son, all of them were conscious. _

_ Fear took over. She pulled her legs towards herself and started to shake uncontrollably. Her tears kept falling but she couldn’t make any noise. _

_ “She’s a witch!” one of the boys yelled. “A witch! Help! Somebody  _ _ help _ _ us!” _

_ He stood up and waddled towards the mayor’s son. _

_ “He’s... He’s dead. The bitch broke his neck!” _

_ “I... I didn’t do anything” she responded quietly, her voice cracking with fear and shock. _

_ The commotion and the broken tree saps seemed to alert the villagers because a small crowd was now approaching. _

_ “What is going on here?” _

_ “The washerwoman’s daughter, she’s a witch! She killed Hendrik!” _

_ “I... I didn’t do... anything.” The girl tried to speak but whatever was it that happened had also left her extremely tired and weak.  _

_ “She must be burned!” the boy kept yelling. “We all saw it! She murdered Hendrik!” _

_ The villagers all stared at the girl with terror and hatred in their eyes. None of them questioned why she was sitting in undergarments. _

_ \---- _ \------------------------------------------

_ “Rita, did you feel that?” _

_ Margarita Laux- _ _ Antille _ _ raised her head up from the mane of the horse. “I have.” she replied, now looking at the gates of  _ _ Oxenfurt _ _ that was half an hour away. _

_ “Wild magic. Pure chaos. Feels like untamed source.” _

_ “Yes.” Margarita replied. “A large amount in fact. Though extremely uncontrolled. It can’t be anybody with a day of training in magic.” _

_ “I would say we should check out. But I’m sure it can wait.” the red-haired sorceress told Margarita. “Our duty is urgent and important. We’re already late.” _

_ “We are.” Margarita said, sounding like her mind was somewhere else.” _

_ “Rita, I can see that you stopped your horse.” _

_ “I’m just thinking.” _

_ “Don’t. We need to go. Whoever that is, will be here tomorrow.” _

_ “Maybe they won’t, Coral. If this person, likely a young girl, is producing this much chaos, she must be in distress. So, I’m worried that we’re already too late.” _

_ Coral sighed. “You already made up your mind. Fine. Let’s go check. But  _ _ Tissaia _ _ will kill us.” _

_ “That, I have no doubt.” Margarita smiled. Then two sorceresses turned their horses around. _

_ By the time they arrived at the small village, they found a crowd fighting over if they should burn the witch or avoid her and her mother forever to avoid their wrath. And after a short conversation with the girl’s mother and a small bag of gold coins, they left the village with Sylvia, who had not said a single word the entire time. _

* * *

Two hours after midnight, the wind had sped up, making Sylvia feel glad that the King hadn’t asked his cape back. As they walked on the empty fields South of  Galipol , there was no structure that could stop the wind from chilling their bones.

As she spent more time with him, the sorceress could now understand why so many people in the palace believed he was a lunatic. In reality, him making Sylvia teleport them to an empty field and taking a walk to the nearest leg of the army was not something brave. It was a risk caused by him being impatient. If somebody was to attack them, there was a limit to how much Sylvia could protect the King. Waiting another day to join the army would have cost them nothing. But she could see the flame on his tired eyes that signaled his desire for victory. 

Eyes of a man who’d lost so many times.

“Sylvia.” The King said after a silence of nearly an hour.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“I have a question about sorceresses.” he said, a genuine curiosity unsuccessfully hiding behind a mask of meanness Sylvia had learned to ignore. “Why are your type so...  promiscuous ?”

This was actually a question she’d heard and answered before. “Sorceresses live very long, Your Grace. In addition to that, we are infertile. We also lack the social rules and oppression many women face. Besides, not every sorceress lives her life that way.”

“Do you?”

Sylvia stayed quiet. And the King didn’t rush her.

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked with a shrug. “Does Philippa not let you have boyfriends? If yes, hearing that would shock me, considering how many women she’s sent to my chambers so far.”

Sylvia chuckled, unaware that her reaction had confirmed  Radovid’s suspicions on the women offered to him. Then once again, she opted for not responding. They walked a little bit longer before the King broke his silence again.

“The spell you cast on the ship... It was beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Sylvia smiled. “It’s a simple illusion spell but very effective.”

“My father knew about spells.” he said, which caught Sylvia’s attention. “He couldn’t cast any, obviously, but he knew them. Their names, how long it took to cast them, what the caster needed... stuff like that. He was wary of sorcerers but utilized their magic nonetheless. Yet... my own  war mages are a mystery to me.”

Sylvia blinked a couple of times, trying to understand if he was waiting for a reply. But he went on. “I made up my mind a long time ago that wielders of magic would be my enemy. Your kind is unpredictable. Cruel. Cunning.”

“So is yours.” Sylvia responded. She waited for him to get irritated and react but he didn’t. 

“That is true. Perhaps that’s why for ages Kings and Queens relied on magicians. And they often got stabbed on the back.”

“So did the sorceresses. When a monarch gets upset with his advisor, the advisor loses their head.”

“Sorceresses crown kings they like and depose the ones they don’t like.”

“You’re overestimating us.”

“I am not.”  Radovid scowled. “But now I understand your kind better. It is what you said, you live very long. So, a monarch’s reign is merely a chapter of your life. It’s a single page in a history book. Nothing in the grand scheme of things.  Eilhart served my great grandfather. This entire time, the service has been a transaction. A contract she does not need to play fair at. So, if a King wants to utilize arcane power, he constantly has to be vigilant about the everchanging priorities of capricious sorceresses.”

Sylvia did not respond at first. But then, exhaled. “Except for a few girls who come from noble families, an overwhelming majority of  Aretuza’s sorceresses are talented girls taken from their families before they’re adults. We get locked up in a tower, trained cruelly and meticulously, in every area from fighting to history, to manners. When decades of training are over, we are given to the sculptor, who uses magic to alter our bodies in a way that would please men, specifically powerful men. Then we are sent to noble courts, where the monarch sees us as pieces of pretty flesh. Kings don’t listen, so we use seduction and similar methods to manipulate the monarchs. You cannot guess how many times a sorceress used everything in her power to prevent wars. But at the end of the day, she's just a witch, isn't she? I personally would not be surprised to hear we tend to lose our heart in the progress because the world is a hell for the merciful.”

“ So it is a vicious cycle. Your elders and mine despised each other, just like your youngsters will despise mine.”

“I guess so.”

“Then what do I need to do, to ensure the sorceress does not despise the King in the present time?”

Sylvia raised an eyebrow, surprised. “I do not despise you. Yet, I cannot imagine why you would desire my... for the lack of a better term, sympathy?”

“I have no desire for your sympathy, don’t flatter yourself.” The King smiled. “I only seek your loyalty.”

“I was born in  Redania . I spent many years in  Aretuza , located in  Redania . I was saved by the sorceress of  Tretegor and now I serve in the Redanian palace.”

“You’re loyal to Philippa Eilhart, who is only loyal to herself.”

“If your theory about the nature of sorceresses is correct, then you do not need our loyalty. You barely need to offer us a lucrative enough deal that we stay.”

“Yes. But without a single loyal person in my life, the paranoia will make me go insane.”

Sylvia stopped walking. So did the King. Two of them looked at each other’s faces. “I do not like the way Philippa has treated you.” she said to the King. “But you need to understand that I cannot side with you to fight her.”

“Why not?”

“She has saved my life. She took me in and completed my education”

“That cannot be the only reason.”

“It’s not.”

“What is it then?”

Sylvia gave the King a sad smile. “We would never win, Your Grace.”

“I didn’t think we would.”  Radovid started to walk again. “But that would be a glorious way to go down, would it not?”

“There is nothing glorious in death.”

“Ah, so you think my defeat would result in death?” The King grinned. Sylvia stayed quiet. “You never answered my question by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I asked if Philippa forbade you from having a boyfriend.”

“I assume it would not bother her. As long as I give away no information or slack off.”

“Then why don’t you have one?”

The playful tone in his voice was clear. Sylvia could tell that he wanted to tease her and collect information on Philippa, as much as possible. Yet, his question had simply unlocked memories she’d spent countless nights trying to lock away. Her face got serious.

“Because men hurt me. I don’t want to be in pain anymore.”

Sensing the change in tone,  Radovid did not ask further. He kept walking quietly by her side, wrapped inside his black cape that covered the noble outfit and the jeweled crown. 

“Sylvia, look!” 

At the horizon, vague lights were appearing. The distance was still great but it seemed to be lights from torches. “We found my army. Could you use one of your illusions to alert them so they come to pick us up?”

“Yes, I can. What sort  of message?”

“Can you make bright smoke?”

“Yes. They may not see it from here though.”

“We can climb  to one of the large rocks around.

With quick steps, they approached one of the large rocks.  Radovid quickly jumped on the rock. When Sylvia needed to climb, he extended both his hands towards her. She hadn’t expected that but placed her hands on  his .  Radovid pulled her up and once up, held her to prevent her from falling. He’d learned that she needed both her arms a calm mind to cast spells.

Sylvia extended her arms then turned towards the King. For a short while, his brown eyes and her golden eyes locked. Sylvia felt that she missed the days magic hadn’t corrupted her body like that and she still had blue eyes.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay.”  Radovid said quietly. “Three pieces of red smoke. Then a large, continuing black one.”

Sylvia followed his instructions. In five minutes, the lights on the horizon responded with the same order of colored smoke.

“Army code.”  Radovid smiled. “They should be here soon.”

The sorceress nodded. The King was still holding her, balancing both of them on the difficult terrain. Then his face close to hers, he spoke quietly. 

“Men hurt me too, Sylvia. So did women. Even children at times. But I am no longer the orphaned Prince being controlled by  Eilhart and you’re no longer the  Aretuza student lying in a puddle of her own blood. There will be a day you’ll have to choose. The same goes for me. And I promise you, with you or without you, I shan’t lose.”

After that, he slowly lowered her back on the ground.


End file.
